


Yuri, the Vampire Slayer

by Wynn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adult Language, Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, No knowledge of Buffy needed, Off-screen death before story starts, Some Violence and Fighting, Victor and Yuri are half-brothers, Victor is a witch, Yuri is a vampire slayer, strained familial relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: In every generation there is a Chosen One. He alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. He is the Slayer.One month after the death of his Watcher, Yakov Feltsman, sixteen-year old Yuri Plisetsky struggles to deal with the grief he feels at Yakov's death as well as the burden he bears at being a vampire slayer, particularly keeping his secret from his best friend, Otabek Altin. Yuri's brother, Viktor, struggles as well, having traded ballet and the Bolshoi for lawnmowers and suburbia following the death of their mother two years prior. Into both of their lives walks Yuuri Katsuki, a walking knot of contradictions, with his ugly tie and slicked back hair, bearing the news that he, now, is Yuri's new Watcher.





	1. Lightning and Spite

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge about Buffy the Vampire Slayer is necessary. I'll either explain the terms in a note or in the story. Just the basic concept- vampires and demons exist, and a Slayer with supernatural powers kills them- is needed. For this first chapter, a Watcher is like a Slayer's trainer/coach, and the Council is a group of old, stuffy, often British dudes that oversee slaying, Slayers, and their Watchers. 
> 
> Yuri has a briefly described panic attack in the third section of the chapter.

Yuri, the Vampire Slayer  
Part One: Lightning and Spite

-

That is, without a doubt, the ugliest goddamn tie that Yuri has ever seen.

He stares at the blue monstrosity, polyester perhaps, or maybe rayon, as he pats Makkachin on the head. Whatever the fabric, the tie is ugly as sin. The accompanying jacket is nearly as bad, a shapeless, oversized navy blazer that, Yuri squints, has a hole near the left elbow and a fraying edge at the hem. Gritting his teeth, Yuri looks back up at the man who, not ten minutes before, had declared himself to be Yuri’s new Watcher. The man is still talking, still soft and serious as he looks at Yuri and Viktor, but Yuri sees the sheen of sweat across his brow and the slight tremble of his hand as he reaches up to straighten his glasses.

Yuri sees, and he sneers.

The man- Katsuki- Yuri refuses to admit that a human as pathetic as this one had the same name as him- stops talking, having spotted Yuri’s sneer. He blinks as Yuri stands and lowers his hand. 

Beside Yuri, on the other side of Makkachin, in the other armchair that faced the couch upon which Katsuki sat, Viktor sighs. “Yuri-”

“No.” Yuri whirls on Viktor, sending Makkachin scrambling off to the kitchen. “I’m done. This is ridiculous. _He_ is ridiculous,” Yuri adds, thrusting a hand towards the tragedy that is Yuuri Katsuki. “ _This_ is what the Council sends me? Do they want me to die?”

From the corners of his eyes, Yuri sees Katsuki flinch. When Yuri rounds on him, he looks away.

Yuri can barely restrain the urge to shove a stake through his face.

“Yuri,” Viktor says again, and his tone makes Yuri tense. _Yuri, you can’t keep ditching class. You need to finish high school_ (never mind the fact that Viktor himself had hated high school and had bitched about it constantly to Yuri when he was growing up). Or _Yuri, you have to eat something green sometime. You can’t actually live off piroshkis and spite_ (as though Viktor could cook something edible other than Ramen noodles and toast). Or _Yuri, I’m older and wiser and practically perfect in every way, here’s my Prix de Lausanne and my Benois de la Danse to prove it, so you must do everything I say even though I have no fucking idea how to take care of anyone or anything except for a goddamn poodle that has miraculously survived despite my shitty caretaking skills for nine years, so watch as I break the lawn mower again and forget to pick you up from school all the time because I’ve suddenly decided to become a witch because I want to help you, Yuri, and because I look good in black, Yuri, don’t you think so, Yuri, it bring out my eyes, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri-_

Yuri starts at the touch of a hand on his arm. 

Viktor stands beside him, his brow creased in concern. Beyond him, Yuri can see Katsuki gawking at them, his eyes wide. “Yura, are you-”

Yuri wrenches his arm away. “Piss off, Viktor.” He whirls for the door without another word. He hears Viktor sigh again, and the sound is so much like Yakov that Yuri nearly stumbles, but he remains upright, either from years of ballet or from Slayer grace or just pure, unadulterated rage. Passing by the coat rack, Yuri rips off his hoodie then he grabs his bag from the floor before he moves to the front door.

“Ten o’clock,” Viktor snaps when his hand touches the knob. “It’s a school night.”

Yuri releases the knob long enough to flip Viktor off. Then he’s out, he’s free, the crisp night air and the prospect of punching the shit out of the living dead awaiting him in the wilds of Demon Central, otherwise known as St. Petersburg, Florida.

*

The man- Yuuri, Viktor remembers, and wasn’t that just another twist of fate, Yuri and Yuuri- flinches as the front door slams shut. He turns wide brown eyes to Viktor and, silently, gapes. For a moment, Viktor tries to summon the smile, the charming look of apology that he used to use for himself when he was Yuri’s age, but that he’s had to use more and more for Yuri these past two years, but Viktor finds that he can’t. Exhaustion pulls his mouth down instead. He manages, at least, to resist another sigh.

“You’ll have to forgive Yuri,” he says, eyes drifting back to the door. “He’s had a difficult time since Yakov died.”

There’s a beat or two of silence before Yuuri says softly, “I understand.”

Viktor looks back at him. Yuuri no longer gapes. Compassion has softened his prior shock. He’s released the death grip he had on his knees, and he actually takes a breath as he peers at Viktor. He still looks young, with his too big coat and his too soft mouth. Viktor wonders if the Council has told him anything about Yakov’s death. Or about Yuri. Yuuri had seemed unprepared for the spite directed at him upon immediate arrival, so Viktor guesses no.

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he turns and heads past the armchairs for the distant door to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” he asks over his shoulder, Makkachin following in his wake. “It’s the least I can give you for coming all this way.”

“What?”

Viktor stops and turns back to Yuuri. “It’s not you. Not really. Yuri’s just-” Angry. Stubborn. Rude. Fierce. Scared. Scared. Scared. Viktor shakes his head without saying any of them. “It’s just too soon.” He stops and flashes Yuuri a halfhearted smile. “You made it longer than the other two the Council sent though, so you shouldn’t feel too bad.”

Viktor shrugs, still attempting his smile, still striving to conciliate, flatter, and appease. Yuuri, though, doesn’t smile back. He stares at Viktor, his brows and lips drawn together. The steady gaze bowls into Viktor like an ocean wave, nearly knocking him flat. Heart beating fast, he maintains eye contact, though he abandons his stilted smile. “Maybe in a few weeks,” he says after a beat. “Or a month. Yuri might be ready then, and you- or someone else- can try again. But I don’t think this is going to work now.”

Viktor waits, but Yuuri says nothing to the suggestion, or to the gentle dismissal behind it. His eyes drift down Viktor instead, to his bare feet and his stained jeans, grass and dirt and oil on the denim from when he tried to fix the lawn mower that afternoon. They take in Makkachin next and the cracked TV behind Viktor, Yuri losing his temper at having to do homework and hurling his history book across the room and into the TV. Then Yuuri peeks at the dining room, on the other side of the front door and still smelling like smoke from when Viktor set the table on fire in his latest attempt to master elemental spells. 

When he finally looks back at Viktor, Viktor lifts his chin and says, “I think you should-”

“I think I would like a cup of tea,” Yuuri says as he stands. “Thank you.”

Viktor clenches his jaw. The tips of his fingers begin to tingle. “Mr. Katsuki-”

“Yuuri.”

“Yuuri. I’m sorry this didn’t work out for you. Maybe if the Council sent someone-" _Older_ comes to mind followed closely by _more experienced_ and _less likely to faint if Yuri snarls at them._

“There is no one else,” Yuuri says in the pause.

Viktor goes still. “What?”

“No other Watcher would come,” Yuuri explains as he eases around the coffee table. He weaves between the two chairs and stops a few feet from Viktor. “The other Watchers… They weren’t kind about Yuri in their reports. They said he was rude. Aggressive. Untrainable,” he adds after a pause.

Viktor feels a lick of electricity along his hands. “Yakov trained him just fine.”

“He did,” Yuuri says. “But he can’t anymore. And no one else will.”

The lights in the house flicker. “Then I’ll train him! We don’t need the Council. Or you. None of you cared about him after Yakov died. You only cared about your precious Slayer. None of you care that you send a boy, a _child_ , out to fight for his life every single night, or that someday he’ll- someday he’ll-” Viktor stops, the word, the frightening possibility, the likely reality, sticking in his throat.

But not, it seems, in Yuuri’s. “Die?”

The lights flicker again. Sparks crackle across Viktor’s hands. “Get out.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I won’t give up on you. Or him.”

The comment pierces the haze surrounding Viktor, puncturing his anger. He gapes at Yuuri, his eyes wide. Yuuri flushes under his gaze. Viktor watches as he dips his head, as he swallows hard. The lights steady and the power within Viktor recedes, more when Yuuri draws in a breath and lifts his head and looks at Viktor with eyes big and soft, but strong, too, strong and stubborn.

“I know that today went badly. I know that I messed up. I thought-” Yuuri averts his eyes for a beat. His hands grip the hem of his jacket. “I didn’t think I could be me. Because I’m not- I’m not what you expect. I know that,” Yuuri says as a frown creases his brow. His eyes flicker to take in Viktor again. “You’re not what I expected either. But I know that I can help. And I want to. I just need another chance, and I need you to give it to me because I know that Yuri can’t.”

A feather, Viktor thinks, could knock him flat. He’d disintegrate at a touch, Yuuri disarming him, surprising him, from the moment he had stood up. _I won’t give up on you. Or him._ An unheard of sentiment, for Viktor and for Yuri too now, no friends from their past lives lingering to the next, and few in this one that attempt to believe in them. Throat swelling, Viktor asks, the question no more than a murmur in the evening hush, “And why is that?”

“Because he’s too afraid. He doesn’t want to get anyone else killed.”

Viktor inhales sharply.

Yuuri doesn't let him recover. He continues on, moving closer, imploring and intent. “That is something I understand. Something I can help him with. If you let me.”

Breathless, Viktor shakes his head. “It’s not me you have to convince. It doesn’t matter what I think. Not with Yuri. He…” Viktor huffs out a breath and glances back at the door. How many times had such an exit occurred? Some in their youth, Yuri bristling under Viktor’s affection, or perhaps his success. More after their mother died, after Viktor came and tried, desperately, to fill her shoes. And after Yakov… Viktor shakes his head again. He pushes a hand through his hair and turns back to Yuuri. “You saw his goodbye. That wasn’t all because of you.”

Yuuri says nothing to the admission. He regards Viktor quietly. Viktor wants to look away, the gaze too keen, seeming to slip past the surface, the charm and the smile and the flights of whimsy, to the very core of him. He can’t though, the kindness that he sees in Yuuri pinning him fast. Then Yuuri smiles, a small one but no less incandescent. “Then I guess we’ll just have to work together. Maybe the both of us can help Yuri.” He pauses then and the world tilts, it rocks beneath Viktor, as a sly gleam appears in Yuuri’s eyes. “At the very least, it’ll be harder for Yuri to leave if he’s flipping us both off. He’ll have no hands to open the door.”

Viktor laughs, a sharp bark that takes him by surprise. Lowering his arm, he says, “I don’t know about that. Yuri’s resourceful.”

Yuuri nods. Then he tips his head back and his smile fades and the look in his eyes is a far, far cry from the hunched and hesitant man that had knocked on their door twenty minutes before. “So am I.”

The world tilts and reorients once again. Viktor stares at Yuuri, and, as he does, he believes. He believes that, somehow, miraculously, Yuuri Katsuki can succeed, that he can reach Yuri, that he can help him, train him, and maybe, hopefully, hopefully, oh how Viktor hopes, keep him alive.

“I’m free by two tomorrow,” he says. “If you want to try again. Yuri’s usually back from school by three.”

The confidence breaks, blown away by sheer relief. Yuuri closes his eyes and his shoulders slump and he sighs, not in defeat, but as in a battle long fought and hard won. Opening his eyes, Yuuri looks at Viktor and then bows, he actually _bows_ , with a slow, graceful dip of his head.

“Thank you for believing in me. I will do my best.”

All Viktor can do is nod. His silence doesn’t faze Yuuri though. He sends Viktor another smile, bows his head a second time, and then turns for the front door, leaving Viktor stunned and staring in his wake.

*

School blew.

The clock ticks forward another minute, and Yuri sighs and sinks down in his desk. Just ten more and he would be free, free to do what really mattered. Train. Prepare. Figure out how to find _it_ , how to make _it_ suffer, the way that it made Ya-

Yuri grits his teeth and tries to shake away the thought. His eyes drift from the clock to his English teacher, Mrs. Bailey, still droning on about that goddamn poem she had them read. Death was the mother of beauty. Fuck that. There was nothing beautiful about death. It stared him in the face every single night, crawling up out of hell to reign torment on the world. Death was bloody and brutal, arms akimbo and eyes unseeing, but staring, staring right at Yuri as he-

No.

 _No_.

Yuri fists his hands, digs his nails into his palms. From the corners of his eyes, he sees the girl beside him- Mila- gawking at him. Swallowing hard, he tries to relax, to breathe in and out, in and out again. The last thing he needed was the school calling Viktor again. If he had to sit down and endure another one of his brother’s stilted attempts at solace, at understanding, at _feelings_ , Yuri was going to puke. Puke and maybe kick Viktor in the face. His lips twitch at the thought, Viktor sprawled on his ass, his nose bloodied, arms akimbo, eyes unseeing, but staring, staring at Yuri-

He can’t stifle the gasp. Mila glances again at him, and his teacher’s eyes cut toward him. Yuri jerks his head to the side to stare out the window. The bright afternoon beyond the glass wavers. Yuri blinks, once and then again, to destroy the tears. He needed to be strong. Calm and still. Like Otabek. Beka never cried. Beka stared life down with a steely glint in his eye. So could Yuri. Yakov never cried either, never sweated like a pig from nerves, not like Katsuki. Yuri grits his teeth again at the memory of Yuuri Katsuki. Fucking Council. Useless hags that had probably never seen a vampire before, let alone fought one. And they expected him-

“Yuri?”

Yuri whips his head around. Mrs. Bailey stands at the end of his row, staring at him, her brow creased in concern. The rest of the class stares at him too. Yuri feels himself start to flush. He casts a glare at his closest classmates and unsettles the weakest enough to make them turn away. Mrs. Bailey, though, furrows her brow further. The breath catches in Yuri’s chest as she opens her mouth. _Are you okay? Do you want to talk? Yuri, I’m worried. I’m worried, Yuri. Let’s talk_.

Leaning over, he grabs his bag from the floor by his feet and stands so quickly he rattles the desk.

“Yuri, what-”

He storms past Mrs. Bailey, past her questions and her concern, past the gawking cretins in his class, and out of the classroom into the hall. He’d hear about it from Viktor later, Mrs. Bailey sure to call his brother and Viktor anal about Yuri finishing school. As if that mattered. Yuri knows his future, the scope and the scale of it, Yakov unflinching with him about the history of Slayers. Most died within three years of their calling, some within five. Yuri had one year under his belt. Two to go. More than enough time to find _it_ and find a way to kill it. Viktor just needed to accept the truth. Nothing existed for Yuri beyond death, beyond killing _it_ before it killed him, as it killed-

The gasp comes again. The sob snags in his chest, stifling Yuri. He swallows again and tries to breathe, tries to settle and still, but his hands tremble and he stumbles on unsteady feet. His shoulder bangs into the lockers beside him. Yuri sags, tears in his eyes again, everything tight, tight and hot, no air in his lungs, no hope for his life, nothing, nothing-

“Yura.”

Strong hands settle on his shoulders. Tipping his head back, Yuri sees Otabek before him. He twists his head away and tries to move away, but Beka holds him firm. He could break the hold, he could use his strength to lift Beka above his head, to toss him down the hall and out the door, but it hadn’t helped him against _it_. He had failed then. Yuri had failed and Yakov had died and so would he, someday, no matter what.

Another sob wrenches from him. Then he’s moving, stumbling again as Beka nudges him down the hall and around the corner. They duck into the nearby bathroom. Beka releases Yuri long enough to shut the door and drag a trash can in front of it. Enough of a deterrent for most of the morons that attended their school. 

Yuri heads straight for a stall. Inside, he slams the door so hard he hears the fake wood crack. He jams his hands against his eyes and he tries, he tries to breathe.

The bell rings in the distance. Footsteps shuffle down the hall. Voices, bright and free in the afternoon, spill from the hall into the bathroom. There’s a thud and a scrape by the door then another slam, Beka shoving the door closed once more.

In and out. In and out. Again and again and again.

By the time Yuri settles, silence reigns in the hall. He reaches for the stall door with a steady hand and hot eyes. In the bathroom beyond, Beka crouches by the trash can, his phone in his hands, thumbs mid-text. He rises as Yuri exits the stall, but he says nothing as Yuri moves to a sink. He watches though. Yuri feels the gaze as he splashes cold water on his face, as he drinks a gulp down. Beka would never push him to talk, but he wants to and the want weighs on Yuri, heavy and reproachful. One nervous breakdown he could brush off, but two in a month… Yuri swallows down another handful of water. As he straightens, his eyes move of their own volition, finding and locking with Beka’s in the mirror. What Yuri had always liked about Beka, his direct approach to life, his clear and straightforward gaze, now becomes his bane, Beka’s concern plain in his eyes, not couched in Viktor’s flare for the dramatic, but simple, pure, and all the more agonizing.

Yuri has to look away.

Behind him, Beka sighs.

Yuri clutches the rim of the sink to stop his hands from trembling again.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Beka asks, breaking the silence.

Yuri stiffens at the question. _Because I’m scared. Because I failed. Because I don’t know how. I don’t know how, Beka. Yakov said not to. He said it was too dangerous. That you could die if you knew. You could die, Beka. If you knew, you could die. Just like-_

“Because I don’t want to,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

Beka doesn’t respond. He remains silent so long that Yuri wonders if he somehow found a way to slip silently from the bathroom. Glancing up, he finds Beka still behind him, still staring at Yuri, now with his mouth flat.

When they lock eyes, he speaks. “I guess that’s better than the lie you told me last time.”

This brings Yuri around. “Beka, I didn’t-”

“Don’t. I don’t want you to lie to me again. We’re supposed to be friends.”

The doubt cuts at him, makes his stomach churn and his heart pound fast. “We are.”

Beka lifts his brows. “Are we? When was the last time we hung out after school? Two months ago? Three?”

Yuri can’t hold the stare, Beka speaking truth. “I know, but Viktor… He…” The excuse dies on his lips, tasting bitter in his mouth. 

“No.” Where Yuri is weak, Beka is firm; his denial echoes in the bathroom. “It’s not Viktor. I know because I asked him.”

Yuri jerks his head up. “What? When?”

“After the last time I found you like this.”

The last time. Yuri snaps his mouth shut at the memory. Less than a week after _it_. Yuri had gone back to school, despite Viktor’s protests, wanting a distraction, an escape, school preferable to his mind and his memories. Yuri had been waiting for Beka before classes began, and his phone had chimed, alerting him to a new email. The Council telling him they would be sending a new Watcher by the end of the week. The blunt tone, cold and indifferent, had gutted him in a way that Viktor and his overbearing sympathy hadn’t. Beka had found him in an alcove off the main entrance, sobbing, curled in a ball and near hysterics, and had called Viktor. 

And then, apparently, had talked to him after. 

Yuri stares at Beka, breathing fast. “You talked to him about me? Behind my back?”

Beka returns the stare, unrepentant. “Yes. But I asked _you_ first. I called you the next day, remember? But you blew it off like it was nothing. What else was I supposed to do?”

Shock gives way at the challenge to anger. Yuri welcomes its familiar burn. “You’re supposed to accept it. If I didn’t want to talk about it, then that should’ve been the end of it.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it, Yuri. Am I just supposed to ignore this?” He waves a hand at Yuri, at his blotchy face and ragged lips, at all the signs of his newest breakdown. “Would you?” Beka asks after a pause. “If this was the other way around? If I was the one who was upset and crying and ditching school all the time? Would you just ignore everything and not even try to help?”

“You can’t help, Beka! There is nothing you can do! There is nothing _anyone_ can do. I just- I have to deal with it myself.”

Beka stares at him a few seconds, silent, before he says quietly, “That’s not what Viktor said.”

Yuri freezes. 

“He said you thought that you did,” Beka continues, “but that you didn’t. And he said I shouldn’t let you push me away, that you would tell me about what’s going on when you were ready.”

Yuri fists his hands. Still, they tremble. “He shouldn’t have opened his big fucking mouth.”

“He cares about you, Yuri. So do I."

Yuri shakes his head, whether in denial or disbelief he doesn’t know.

In the silence, Beka moves toward him, closing the distance between them. Soft, too soft for the way Yuri glares, for the way his stomach churns and his head pounds, Beka says, “You know you can tell me anything, right? There’s nothing you can say that will make me angry. Not if you’re honest. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Yuri closes his eyes. He tenses against the trembling that threatens to overtake him again, and he wills away the afterimage of Beka lingering before him, his appeal stark on his face and warm in his eyes. Yuri swallows and digs his nails into the palm of his hands. His breath hitches in his chest. The silence persists, broken by a drip from the faucet behind Yuri, by his ragged breaths. 

“Yura…”

Yuri flinches at the soft tone. “I _can’t_.” 

Beka is silent. The silence weighs on Yuri, but he keeps his eyes closed, the compassion that would greet him too much. After a few seconds, Beka sighs, and Yuri thinks they’ve receded from the precipice, that Beka will drop the issue and they can get back to normal, but then he hears shuffling and opens his eyes to find Beka walking away.

“Beka?” 

Beka stops, but he doesn’t turn around. “My shift starts in less than an hour. I have to go home and get changed.”

“Oh.”

Beka remains in place a moment. Yuri thinks that he shakes his head. He knows that Beka starts again for the door.

“Wait!” Yuri lunges forward and reaches out, but he doesn’t touch Beka. His hand hovers in the air between them. His mouth hangs open, Yuri calling out without thinking. Beka stops again. He doesn’t completely turn, but he turns enough to look at Yuri. When he does, Yuri goes still, the clarity in Beka’s gaze gone now. Instead, it’s guarded and wary. Yuri feels the hesitance like a punch to his gut. Desperately, he says, “Can I stop by later? Or tomorrow? We could-”

“I can’t.”

“Oh.” Yuri lowers his hand.

Beka eyes him a second before saying, “Alira asked me to help her with her science project. She has to make a solar system by Monday.”

Yuri nods, once, the motion jerky and stiff. He can’t demand for Beka to abandon his little sister.

Beka stares at him a few moments longer. Yuri can’t read the look in his eyes. He takes back his prior criticism of Beka’s transparency and wishes for a way to bring it back. But he can’t do that to Beka, he can’t plunge him into a world of death and desperation, so he stays silent and after a few moments more, Beka says softly, “Take care of yourself, Yuri,” before he walks away.

*


	2. The Table Upheaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments, kudos, bookmarked, and subscribed! The next chapter should be posted in a week or so as it is almost completely written. I hope you enjoy this one! :D

Yuri, the Vampire Slayer  
Part Two: The Table Upheaves 

-

It takes Viktor nearly half a minute to realize that the man standing on the other side of the open door is Yuuri Katsuki. The ugly tie from yesterday is gone. So too is the floppy jacket. Instead Yuuri wears clothes that fit, a soft blue sweater that hints at firm shoulders and a narrow waist with a slim pair of jeans rolled above grey sneakers. His hair is pushed back and his glasses are gone, and the nerves that had greeted Viktor when he had opened the door the day before are nowhere to be found. This Yuuri eclipses even the one from the end of their prior conversation, when he’d tipped his head back and, bold as brass, proclaimed just how resourceful he could be before a gaping Viktor.

Now Viktor gapes again. He feels a little spark of heat light low in his gut, and his hand clenches around the doorframe. Thank god he’s wearing actual clothes today, a pair of charcoal pants and a black sweater, so he, too, can make a better first impression.

When the stare persists a few more seconds, Yuuri lifts his brows. “Uh, it’s Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. We-”

“I remember you. Just not like this,” Viktor says as he waves his free hand at Yuuri.

Who promptly flushes.

Viktor tries hard not to find it adorable.

“Yes, well,” Yuuri mumbles as he glances down at himself, “I thought I should dress the part yesterday.” He peeks up at Viktor. One corner of his mouth twitches in a smile. “You know, seem older. More respectable.”

In a far corner of his mind, Viktor thinks he should probably feel a bit shameful that Yuuri knew about his hesitation of him the day before. But the more immediate and demanding corners of his brain take delight in the teasing, so he grins. “Does this mean you’re not respectable?” he asks as he steps back from the door. “However did the Council let you become a Watcher?”

Yuuri moves past him into the house. “Reluctantly.” He continues before Viktor can retort. “Does Yuri know I’m coming today?”

Viktor shuts the door. “No. You actually wanted a chance to talk to him, right?”

Yuuri looks back at him, his expression wry. “Right.”

Viktor forces himself to breathe. “Would you like something to drink? I never did get to make that tea yesterday.”

Yuuri nods. Makkachin bounds down the stairs then. He goes straight to Yuuri, who croons a soft greeting before patting his head. Makkachin melts, his tail swishing fast and his gaze adoring as he stares up at Yuuri. Viktor fears that he, too, bears the same expression. He turns, crooking his hand for Yuuri to follow, then heads into the dining room, past the table cluttered with what Yuri has dubbed his ‘witch shit.’ A map of the city lay flush with the closest edge, in the midst of half-burned candles. Haphazard piles of books lay across the burned and stained surface, some of the tomes gifts from Yakov after Viktor had finally persuaded him of his genuine interest in the craft, others ones Viktor had found himself, from strange forums online and, surprisingly, Ebay. A glass paperweight held down Viktor’s notes on elemental spells. Other crystals dotted the far edge of the table, laid in a wobbly circle around a shallow bowl that Viktor had tried to use for scrying. He strides past the mess, Makkachin at his heels. Yuuri, however, is not.

Turning, Viktor finds him peering down at the map. “Is this for a location spell?” he asks once Viktor has faced him.

“Yes.”

Yuuri eyes Viktor sidelong, the hint of a smile dancing once more around his lips. “Kind of an intense way to find lost keys. Or is it your phone?”

Viktor huffs out a soft laugh. “Not lately. Mostly it’s for Yuri.” At Yuuri’s frown, he clarifies. “To make sure he actually goes to school.” He had, in fact, used the spell this morning, he and Yuri in another epic showdown concerning school. He didn’t understand why Yuri didn’t understand its importance, the state willing to take Yuri away from Viktor if he dropped out of school. Aware of Yuuri before him, Viktor tries to shake off the awful possibility. “I also try to find _it_ , but I’ve never been successful.”

Yuuri faces him; his frown deepens. “It?”

“The thing that killed Yakov.”

Yuuri inhales sharply. His eyes go wide.

Viktor feels the back of his neck start to warm. He averts his gaze, focusing on the map. “It’s stupid, I know. I don’t even know what _it_ is. But I can’t-”

“It’s a Vahrall demon.”

Viktor jerks his gaze back to Yuuri. “What?”

For the first time that day, Yuuri falters. “A- A Vahrall demon. They, uh, the Council didn’t tell you?”

Viktor clenches his jaw. “No. They didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Viktor presses his lips flat and tries to will away the anger beginning to burn within him. Yuuri stares at him, his frown now not of confusion, but of concern. Viktor tilts his head away from it, looking back at the map. “How long?” 

It takes a second for Yuuri to reply. “What?”

“How long have they known? How long have the Council kept this from me? From Yuri.”

Yuuri hesitates so long that Viktor looks back at him. His eyes are on Viktor’s hands. Shame blunts the rage within Viktor, shame at how he had threatened Yuuri the day before. Viktor draws in another breath, deeper, slower this time, and strives for calm. He must succeed, at least a bit, for Yuuri answers. “They probably knew as soon as they got Yuri’s report.”

Viktor’s jaw drops.

Yuuri worries his bottom lip. His eyes flick between Viktor and the table. Then he says, abruptly, “Vahrall’s are tough-”

But Viktor doesn’t hear him.

Since they got the report.

They knew since they got the report.

“-really tough,” Yuuri continues, shifting in place.

The report they received a month before. 

“But they’ve been fought before, so-”

A month before.

A month before.

A _month_ -

Viktor twists and slams his fist onto the table. Like a boulder thrown into a pond, the table upheaves. Everything goes flying. Makkachin bolts at the din. Yuuri jerks back in shock. The ceramic bowl for scrying crashes into the far wall and shatters. The paperweight smashes through the window and shoots out into the front yard. The books knock the pictures off the walls, his black and white shots of New York and Moscow, the one of him and Yuri after Viktor had won his Prix de Lausanne, all clatter to the floor. Crystals embed themselves in all surfaces; one pierces the glass of his mother’s china cabinet that sits along the kitchen wall. Viktor’s notes flutter in the air, a serene postscript to the letter of his rage.

Silence reigns in the wake of the chaos. Breathing hard, Viktor closes his eyes. Shame slithers in again, cooly twisting around and dissipating his anger. What must Yuuri think to be faced with such mayhem two days in a row, Viktor losing control today and Yuri yesterday? Yuuri wasn’t the target of their hate, he wasn’t the Council, even if he was a Watcher. He came to help them, and he came _back_ despite the greeting he had received yesterday. And how was Viktor encouraging him to stay?

Sighing, Viktor opens his eyes. Yuuri still stands beside him, his mouth open as he takes in the damage. Wincing, Viktor lifts his fist from the table. He grimaces again at the bite of pain he feels as he unfurls his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Wordless, Yuuri shakes his head.

Viktor drops his hand to his side. “I have to check on Makkachin.”

He slips by Yuuri then, careful to avoid his gaze. Viktor starts up the stairs, only one place in the house that Makkachin liked to hide. Usually, thunderstorms were the culprit. In the summer, fireworks. But now it was Viktor. Viktor and Yuri and the tumult of their lives. At the top of the stairs, Viktor turns for his bedroom. Stepping inside, he spots Makkachin’s tail peeking out from under the bed. The sight brings tears to his eyes, it fuels the shame burning hot in his gut. 

Crouching by the door, he says softly, “Makka… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Come on, boy. It’s okay. You’re safe. I won’t- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please. It’s okay, Makka. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

As he murmurs apologies, Makkachin eases out from under the bed. He slinks over to Viktor, his head down and tail between his legs. Stifling a sob, Viktor stretches out his hand. Makkachin sniffs at it, cautious, before bumping his head against Viktor’s palm. Relief wrenches another sob from Viktor. He smoothes his hand over Makkachin’s head and down his neck, again and again until Makkachin moves closer, until he lifts his head and licks at Viktor’s face. Bowing his head, Viktor lets the tears fall.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Makka. I can’t- I can’t do this. I’m trying, but I _can’t_.”

His voice cracks on the last. He had tried. He had tried so hard after his mother died, leaving the ballet and moving here to care for Yuri. And with the Slaying, when he learned of Yuri’s calling, he had tried, however he could, devoting himself to learning witchcraft so that he could help. And then with Yakov, Viktor had tried, he’d tried to keep Yuri steady, to keep him safe. But he failed, again and again, Yuri drawing farther away from him with each day. He couldn’t do this. How could he do this? How? How? _How?_

The tinkle of glass downstairs breaks through his recriminations. He remembers Yuuri then, left in the ruin of the dining room. Lifting his head, Viktor swipes at his face with his free hand. He knows his face is blotchy. He thinks Yuuri is kind enough not to stare. Pulling in a deep breath, Viktor pats Makkachin once more before he rises and leaves the room. He hears movement in the dining room as he starts down the stairs. Quickening his pace, he reaches the end and rounds the corner. He spots the landscape photos laying on the table, the picture of him and Yuri placed on top. His notes are in a neat stack beneath one of the mushed candles; another few hold the map of the city flat. Viktor finds Yuuri by the far wall, crouched down as he gingerly picks shards of the broken bowl off of the floor.

Viktor starts across the room. “Don’t. Please. I can clean up my own mess.”

Yuuri looks up as Viktor draws close. Viktor falters, fearing fear in Yuuri’s eyes, or disgust, but he sees neither. Just compassion. And understanding. Yuuri’s voice is soft when he speaks. “I know. But it’ll take longer. And I’d like to help.”

How many times can one man set Viktor’s world aspin in the span of twenty-four hours? More than he can count, more than he can manage if the tenuous thump of his heart is any indication. Swallowing hard, Viktor nods. Yuuri nods too, and Viktor thinks he spies a bit of relief in his eyes. _I won’t give up on you. Or him._ Before Viktor can puzzle out the meaning behind the man, Yuuri turns back to the broken bowl and reaches for the next shard. Viktor moves then, kneeling beside Yuuri and laying light fingers on his arm.

“At least let me do this,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

Yuuri’s eyes snap up to his. Afternoon sunlight filters in through the window and shines gentle and warm upon Yuuri, gleaming off his dark hair, highlighting the cabernet shades of his eyes. Viktor finds that he can’t look away. His fingers curl around Yuuri’s arm, sliding slow against the smooth fabric of his sweater. Time teases out the moment then Yuuri breaks, shooting to his feet as a ferocious blush flames across his face. 

“Okay. Okay,” he says, dumping the shards onto the floor before he moves away. 

He passes by Viktor and crosses to the other side of the room. A few seconds later, Viktor hears him fumbling for the books strewn there. The feel of Yuuri’s sweater lingers on his hand. Closing his eyes, Viktor shakes his head. How many mood swings was he going to subject Yuuri to in the span of one day? He needed to be calm, to appear like a competent caretaker for a teenager who was literally in the fight for his life day in and day out. Viktor inhales slowly and exhales just as slow and then he opens his eyes and turns his attention to the broken bowl. He and Yuuri clean in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds in the dining room their gradual restoration of order and the faint passing of cars on the road outside. 

Broken shards gathered, both from the broken bowl and the window, Viktor stands and heads to the kitchen to dispose of them. When he returns, he finds Yuuri by the dining room table, his eyes on the renewed neat stack of books. Viktor watches as he flips the cover of the top book, the astronomy tome Viktor had just ordered from a bookseller in New York. Easing into the room, he searches for a topic of conversation, something neutral to restore order to _them_ before Yuri and his inevitable explosion returned. 

“So,” he says, “how long have you been a Watcher?”

Yuuri freezes. His eyes dart to Viktor before shifting away, back down to the books. “Not long. Just- a while. What, uh, what about you?” he asks as he glances back at Viktor. “I mean with this. Witchcraft, not, uh, Watching. Obviously.”

Viktor suppresses his smile. “About eight months. Once I learned of Yuri’s calling.”

Yuuri nods. His gaze drifts around the room, lingering a beat on the broken window. “You’re, uh, very powerful.”

“Really?”

Yuuri nods again. “I know a few witches. They’ve practiced for years, but aren’t anywhere near this powerful.”

The admission breaks Viktor’s pretense of calm. He rushes to the table, opposite Yuuri, grinning, giddy. “You know other witches? I haven’t met any. Not in person anyway. I met some online. What can they do? Do you know? Have they tried any transmogrification? Or spirit walking? I’ve read that some witches can read minds if they practice enough. And some can converse with the dead. Do you know if scrying _actually_ works, or if the future is just unknowable? And what about- What?” he asks as Yuuri lifts a hand to his mouth. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Yuuri says quickly. He waves his hands in front of Viktor to punctuate the denial. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He trails off. His cheeks go pink again, and he looks away.

“What?”

Yuuri lowers his hands. “Nothing. You were just… excited. Really excited. And it was… cute. Not cute!” he shouts, his eyes flying up to Viktor’s again. “Nice. It was nice. Seeing you smile. It was…” He mutters something in what Viktor suspects is Japanese and what he suspects to be a curse. Yuuri taps his fingers against the astronomy book for a few seconds and then stammers, “What else can you do? With your witchcraft. Beside telekinesis. And elemental control. Can you, uh, do other things? Like- like stuff.” Yuuri grimaces at the last and lets loose a soft sigh.

Viktor returns to his prior claim of adorable and firmly places it in the Yuuri Katsuki column. Not bothering to hide his smile, he says, “Well, I’ve tried scrying, but I haven’t been successful. The future remains as opaque as ever. I can do some healing spells. I learned those early to help Yuri. I started with auras, also to help Yuri.” He pauses then and his grin turns rueful. “I thought I could figure out who’s a vampire and who’s not easier. But Yuri said he could figure that out for himself what with their ‘massive fucking fangs, god, Vitya.’” Viktor shakes his head and sighs; a second later though, he shrugs and his grin returns. “It has been pretty helpful with dates though. You know, check for compatibility, demonic possession, and the like.”

The joke draws forth another smile from Yuuri. He peers at Viktor a few seconds, considers, and then he asks, “Have you checked mine?”

Viktor goes still, his brain snagging on the juxtaposition of Yuuri and dating and then clinging on to the notion. Then reality returns, Yuuri likely meaning the demonic possession part. “Um, yes. Just after you arrived yesterday. Sorry.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I would have done the same if I were in your position.”

Viktor relaxes. “Good. Because I suppose, as I am supposing now, that summoning the physical manifestation of someone’s soul without asking permission first might be considered an invasion of privacy.”

“Perhaps.” Yuuri tilts his head to the side, smile fading as he continues to consider Viktor. Then, his voice quiet, a little lilting hum in the afternoon light, “Can I ask what you saw when you saw mine?”

Pulse quickening, Viktor nods. “Warmth. Oranges, some reds. Like a sunset.”

Yuuri makes true on his claim, his cheeks reddening now. He ducks his head, directing his focus to the books again, but his eyes flit back up to Viktor’s a second later. “What about yours? Can you see yours?”

Viktor nods, breathless. 

“What does it look like?”

“Blue.”

Yuuri peers at him a moment before a smile unfurls as a kite in the wind. “Like a sky.”

Viktor feels like a sky now, warming in the presence of the sun. “Yes.”

They stare at each other, and Viktor forgets his earlier vow to eschew mood for calm, mood infinitely preferable to competence, to clean and precise order. Mood melted in the bones and stoked fire in the blood. Mood lived in the dance that used to live in Viktor. He thinks, now, that if he took Yuuri’s hand, maybe it could live in him again. 

He doesn’t get the chance to try, familiar stomps sounding from the porch outside and sending the mood smashing to the floor as Viktor’s scrying bowl had minutes before. Yuuri looks away from him over to the door. His eyes widen a fraction as they hear the scrape of a key in the lock then he presses his lips flat and straightens his shoulders, waiting. 

Viktor turns as the door opens and Yuri steps inside. Though Viktor can’t see, he knows Yuri kicks the door shut, the slam loud enough to rattle the steadiest of souls. To his credit, Yuuri doesn’t flinch. Yuri locks the door and drops his bag onto the floor then he makes his way into the dining room. Viktor spots the glass paperweight in his hand; red tinges the corners of his eyes and the flare of his nose, a mirror to his own tear-stained face. He has just enough time to feel the first prickle of panic within him before Yuri spots Yuuri across the room and goes absolutely still.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Viktor moves toward his brother, striving again for calm. Calm, calm, calm. Not mood. Yuri was mood, tetchy snarls and vexation. Viktor needed calm, the cool depth of space to the exploding supernova. “He’s here to talk to you.”

From the corners of his eyes, Viktor sees Yuuri move, easy steps until he’s standing opposite of Yuri. Yuri glares at him, but then he tenses and Viktor watches as his eyes dart from Yuri to the crystal in the wall behind him to the broken window and then, finally, to Viktor. Or to the traces of tears still splotching his face. Viktor opens his mouth to explain, but Yuri turns back to Yuuri, his eyes hard.

“What did you say to him?”

Viktor sighs and shakes his head. “He didn’t. This was my fault, Yura. I-”

“I told him the truth about Yakov.”

Viktor jerks his head toward Yuuri. He hears his brother draw in a sharp breath.

“About how he died,” Yuuri continues, his voice steady and calm. How is he calm?

The revelation acts as a magnet, pulling Yuri into the room. “What was it? Tell me.”

At the question, the breath stills in Viktor’s chest. He looks from Yuuri to his brother, who grips the paperweight with a tight hand but who still trembles, who still bears signs of crying on his own face. Viktor turns back to Yuuri, fear like ice in his veins. _Don’t. Don’t tell him. Please. He’ll die. He’ll die. You can’t, you can’t, you-_

“If I tell you,” Yuuri says, breaking into Viktor’s plea, “you’ll try to find it and kill it. But you’re not ready to do that.”

Viktor, relieved, looses a sigh. 

Yuri, trembling, narrows his eyes.

Yuuri, implacable, continues. “You’re too young. Too inexperienced. You-”

With a strangled cry, Yuri rears back and hurls the paperweight at Yuuri. Viktor whips up a hand, instinct fast, and bats the ball back through the window into the front yard. The window shatters from the second impact. More glass cascades onto the carpet, some onto the porch outside. The tableau holds a second, all three frozen as they stare at the window and the broken veins of glass, then Yuri gives another cry and starts across the room. 

Viktor latches onto his arm and pulls him back around. “What the hell are you doing? You could have killed him, Yura-”

“Let him go, Viktor.”

Both Viktor and Yuri whip their heads towards Yuuri, who regards Yuri with a furrowed brow, his only sign of distress at nearly being pummeled by a paperweight thrown by a Vampire Slayer. A few seconds pass and then he asks, his voice quiet, “Do you want to fight? Will that make you feel better?” 

Yuri sneers at him. “Yes.”

“Fine,” Yuuri says. “Let’s fight.”

Viktor tenses, but Yuri moves, past Viktor for the kitchen. Viktor tries to reach out for him again, but Yuri evades his grasp. “Where are you going?”

“The backyard,” Yuri snarls. “So I have enough space to kick his goddamn ass.”

He barrels through the kitchen door without another word. A second later, Viktor hears the back door to the house open. Then Yuri stomps out as he stomped in, in a whirlwind of grief and spite. Viktor stares at the still swinging kitchen door, reeling, almost dizzy from the quickchange turn of the last minute. Sound to his right pulls his attention away. He finds Yuuri striding past the dining room table for the kitchen.

This breaks the stupor around Viktor. “Wait! You don’t have to do this.”

Yuuri stops and looks at Viktor. “Yes, I do. He’ll never listen to me if I don’t.”

Viktor gapes for a few seconds before moving closer to Yuuri. “Do you know anything about Slayers? Yuri is strong. And fast. He’s going to hurt you if you do this.”

Yuuri regards him a quiet moment then he tips his head back and, like yesterday, steals the breath from Viktor’s chest. “He can try.”

*

Katsuki steps off the porch, his pace steady like his gaze. Yuri watches him. Viktor does too, gawking at them both from the porch, his hands wrapped around the rail. Yuri breathes fast, his eyes on Katsuki. He lets the man clear the porch and then he charges, the past few hours, the last couple of days, the preceding weeks and months and years of Yuri’s life fueling his rush forward. He hears Viktor gasp, and he watches and waits for the glimmer of fear to appear in Katsuki’s eyes, but it doesn’t. Rather, he holds his ground, only moving at the last second when he spins out of Yuri’s reach, out and around and behind him, then Yuri feels a blow to his back, Katsuki striking him between the shoulder blades with the heel of his hand.

Yuri reels but quickly straightens and whips around. Katsuki’s pushing the sleeves of his sweater up as he eases backwards into the yard. “That was sloppy,” he says when Yuri meets his eyes. “I know Yakov taught you better than that.”

At the taunt, Yuri sees red. He launches himself at Katsuki again, this time waiting for the dodge, anticipating it, planning for it, but it never comes. Katsuki lifts an arm instead and blocks Yuri’s blow. Yuri gawks, his eyes wide. In the shock, Katsuki moves, shoving Yuri in the shoulder with his free hand and sending him stumbling again. Yuri wastes no time, rolling with the momentum, going up and around and back at Kasuki again in a series of kicks and punches that drives the other man back. But Katsuki deflects each attack, his movements smooth and fluid and strong. Yuri moves to kick again, but Katsuki steps to the side and then drops to the ground. His right leg flares out and swipes Yuri’s feet out from under him. Yuri slams to the grass. The impact drives the air from his lungs, it sparks rage hot in his gut and fists his hands by his sides. Kickflipping up, he resumes the attack.

Or he tries. Katsuki evades his first punch and then darts in, pressing the advantage as Yuri had just moments before. Yuri staggers back, the first flare of panic lighting within him. Katsuki moves faster than he should, faster than a human, as fast as Yuri, then faster, crisp and exquisite in his form, like quicksilver. Yuri barely keeps up, his blocks sloppy to Yuuri’s clean form. He’s being penned in, the fence behind him and Katsuki before, Viktor and the house beyond. Yuri plants his feet and then leaps into the air, using his Slayer abilities to twist up and over Katsuki, landing behind him to regain the advantage.

Or he tries. Katsuki slams the heel of his hand into Yuri’s chest, having turned too as Yuri leapt and twisted. Yuri flails and falls to the ground but he handsprings back into a crouch to face Yuuri once more.

“What are you?” he asks, breathing fast. 

Yuuri holds up a hand, turning it in the bright sunlight. “Not what you think.” He tilts his head and considers Yuri through narrowed eyes. “Are you finished?”

“No.” Yuri darts forward and grabs Katsuki’s outstretched arm. He means to throw Yuuri up and over him to the ground. But when he pulls, Yuuri doesn’t move. Not an inch. Yuri yanks again, using all of his strength as he thought about before with Beka, but still Yuuri doesn’t move. Yuri gasps and, in his brief second of shock, Yuuri moves, throwing him up and through the air to the ground where Yuri hits hard. 

“Again,” Yuuri says, relentless, ruthless in his intensity. “Like he taught you. Because I know he did. ‘What good is a Slayer’s strength if he doesn’t know how to _fight_?’”

This time, Yuri rises slow. The last sentence from Katsuki echoes in his head, the question the same one that Yakov had asked him the first day of their training. When straight, he eyes Yuuri. They stare at each other, the seconds ticking by, and then Yuuri moves. He shifts his weight and slips into a perfect back stance, his left knee bent and bearing his weight, his right leg extended toward Yuri. His arms match his legs, his left fist held close to his waist and his right up and palm out toward Yuri. Perfect defense. 

Yuri licks his lips and tries to calm the racing of his heart. Yuuri arches an eyebrow, waiting. And watching. And Yuri finds himself moving, moving as Yakov taught him more than a year ago. He shifts his right leg forward, just shy of a lunge, bending his knee to bear his weight. He eases his left leg behind him, out to the side in preparation for the fight. Yuri brings his left fist to his waist and lowers his right arm until it hovers parallel to his leg. Then he waits, presenting to Yuuri the ordered front stance. Perfect offense.

Yuuri takes in his form and nods. “Good. Now try again. Not because you want to hurt me. But because you want to _beat_ me.”

Sweat slips down the side of Yuri’s face. He hears birds twitter overhead. He breathes in deeply, letting loose a long, slow exhale that releases the brunt of his rage, that brings some clarity to the fore. Yuuri nods again, and Yuri, surprisingly, recalling Yakov, warms at the praise.

The fight this time remains just as fierce, but not as desperate as before. Yuri presses the attack and Yuuri defends. They move in tandem across the yard. From the corners of his eyes, Yuri sees Viktor stare at them, his mouth hanging open. Punch, block, side step, kick, dodge, flip. Fast and then faster, Yuri pressing forward and Yuuri easing back. Breathing hard now, Yuri waits for his opening. He sees it a minute later and moves in, darting toward Yuuri, but at the last second, he realizes his mistake, that Yuuri had baited him, tricked him, toyed with and waited for him to strike. For a third and final time, Yuuri spins behind Yuri and slams the flat of his hand into Yuri’s back, sending him flying across the yard. 

He collapses in a heap by the porch. Viktor rushes off the porch and helps him to his feet. They both turn as Yuuri approaches. He breathes fast now and sweat dots his brow, but otherwise he seems calm, or maybe relieved. 

“What are you?” Yuri asks again, less aggressive this time, but no less demanding. “You’re not human. You can’t be. You fight too-” 

He bites back the compliment at the last second, but Yuuri hears it anyway, one corner of his mouth curving into a smile. “I am human. At least as human as you. Viktor can tell you. He scanned me yesterday.”

Yuri ignores the last, moving out of Viktor’s hold toward Yuuri. “What do you mean, as human as me?”

Yuuri lifts a brow. “Didn’t Yakov ever tell you the source of a Slayer’s power?”

“No.”

“It’s demonic. A Shadow demon, to be exact.” Yuuri pauses then and Yuri watches, fascinated, as his eyes go hard and his mouth goes flat. “Use the strength of the enemy to fight the enemy. No matter the consequences.” Yuuri shakes his head. His eyes slip past Yuri to find Viktor, where they hold. “You were right. No Watcher has ever cared about their Slayer, not enough to stop a child from having to fight. Not now and not from the very start.”

There’s a pause and then Viktor says slowly, “But you do. You care.”

Yuuri nods.

Yuri hears a shuffling behind him. A second later, Viktor draws even. Yuri glances at his face, finds his eyes rapt and wide and locked on Yuuri. “You’re not a Watcher, are you?” he asks, his voice like his eyes, softened with awe.

Yuuri huffs out a short laugh. “No. They don’t even know that I’m here. Well, my Watcher does. Or ex-Watcher, really. The Council fired him a couple of years ago.”

Yuri whips his head back around to Yuuri. “Your _Watcher_?! Who the fuck are you?”

Yuuri looks at him and then back at Viktor. He swallows hard before dipping his head in a short bow. “I am Yuuri,” he says when he straightens. “The Vampire Slayer.”

*

Two Yuris?! Drama at Yu-Topia (aka Casa Nikiforov) in the next chapter.


	3. The Life and Times of Yuuri Katsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early because it's finished, I'm excited about it, and this weekend will be a bit on the busy side. I've drafted the next chapter. Hopefully it won't take too long to polish into a finished and final draft. 
> 
> There’s a discussion of a temporary death in this chapter. No graphic details, just a discussion of the feelings behind why the near death experience occurred, which could be interpreted as a suicide attempt. This chapter also discusses the death of another minor YOI character prior to the commencement of the story.

Yuri, the Vampire Slayer  
Part Three: The Life and Times of Yuuri Katsuki

-

“Bullshit. This is bullshit.”

Viktor sighs as Yuri passes behind his chair again, prowling like one of the tigers that he loves so much. Prowling and pissed off. “Yuri…”

“No. This is bullshit,” he repeats, spinning on his heel and stalking back down the path he’s worn the past five minutes. Viktor tilts his head to follow him. Yuri reaches his chair, the one beside Viktor’s. There, he stops, turns, and glares at Yuuri. Viktor shifts his gaze and sees Yuuri staring back at his brother with a furrowed brow. Otherwise he’s unruffled. And why wouldn’t he be, a man like this? The way he had moved… Viktor feels the same breathlessness as he did when Yuri charged to start the fight, when Yuuri had surprised them all by pirouetting out of the way. The grace of a dancer in the body of a-

“-Slayer. Only one,” Yuri spits out. “And that’s me. _Me_.” He jabs a finger at his chest. 

“That’s usually the case,” Yuuri admits. “But there have been exceptions.”

“How?” Viktor asks, delighting as Yuuri locks eyes with him again.

“Well,” he begins, drawing in a deep breath, “one time a Slayer was turned. I guess she wasn’t technically a Slayer then because she was, you know, a _vampire_ , but she was still around when the next Slayer was called, so there were two at the same time. Another time, the power was divided between a set of twins, a brother and sister. But the others… well, the others were like us,” he says, glancing back at Yuri.

Yuri lowers his hand from his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

Yuuri doesn’t immediately respond. His eyes flit from Yuri to Viktor and back again, and the fierce and fluid fighter from the backyard fades away. Yuuri lowers his gaze, and the tremulous man from their first exchange appears once more; he presses his hands together as if he intended to pray, but he clasps them between his knees instead and draws in another breath. The breath shakes as Yuuri exhales.

“You don’t have to,” Viktor says, inching forward in his chair. He’s perching on the edge now, his knees bumping up against the coffee table. The urge to climb over it and onto the couch next to Yuuri swells within him, more when Yuuri lifts his head and Viktor can see tears in his eyes, a slight trembling throughout his body. He moves to stand, but Yuuri quickly shakes his head.

“Don’t. Please. I need to say it. And Yuri needs to hear it. And so do you.”

Nodding, Viktor retreats, easing back in his chair. His hands grip the armrests, his knuckles white. _I won’t give up on you. Or him._ Glancing at his brother, Viktor finds him staring at Yuuri, his eyes wide and attention rapt. Viktor turns back in time to see Yuuri try but fail at a shrug.

“You know how it is,” he begins. “One Slayer dies, the next one’s called. I just didn’t… stay dead.”

From the corners of his eyes, Viktor sees Yuri recoil. “You- you died?”

Yuuri nods. He trembles again, but presses his lips flat and turns his head away, his jaw so tight that Viktor would wince if he could do anything other than gape. 

He died. Yuuri died.

“Yuuri…” 

Nothing else follows. What could he say? _I’m sorry_ was too trite, too insignificant. Yuuri still turns despite the lack of follow through and meets his eyes. They stare at each other, and Viktor tries to convey solace in his gaze and concern too, something more than kindness, more than simple sympathy, something like- like-

“Are you meaning to do that?” Yuuri murmurs, his expression a bit hazy, the raw edge of grief in him softened. 

“Do what?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri parts his lips. He blinks once, slow. “Make me feel.”

Viktor frowns. He opens his mouth, intending to ask, but then he feels it, a tingle in the back of his mind. He gasps and it vanishes. As it does, Yuuri sags back a little; he blinks again and his vision clears, his expression sharpening once more. Then his eyes fly up to Yuri. Viktor looks too and he freezes as he finds Yuri glaring at him, his fingers dug into the back of the armchair. At the sight, Viktor falters. “I- Yuri, I didn’t mean to…” 

Yuri’s mouth goes flat. “You never do.” He turns before Viktor can respond to peer once more at Yuuri. “How did you die?”

Viktor lowers his gaze. 

Yuuri’s silent another second or two, perhaps to collect himself like Viktor is. When he speaks, his voice is low but steady. The composure kills the apology within Viktor, whatever he did helping Yuuri to speak. 

“It was three years ago,” Yuuri begins. “I’d been a Slayer for about four. It was an ordinary day. And an ordinary demon. Just a Siren. I’d fought a few before. They like water. This one had set up near the pool at my school. Wayne State,” he clarifies after a beat. “I went to go fight it, and it- it pulled me in. I expected it. That’s how they fight. But I just…”

Yuuri trails off. Viktor looks up as the silence stretches on. Yuuri stares at neither him nor Yuri now, but off into the distance, back into memory. His mouth trembles. The rest of him sits rigid though, braced for impact. “I just stopped,” he says a few seconds later. “Stopped fighting. I… was tired of it. It didn’t seem like it mattered what I did, if I fought. Vampires, demons, they just kept coming. I wasn’t enough. And I was tired,” he adds, voice going quieter, “of being alone.”

The wind whispers through the broken window in the dining room. Cars rumble by on the street outside. Viktor feels each word of Yuuri’s hushed confession as a shout in the silence. 

“Celestino,” Yuuri continues, “my Watcher, he said it was better that way. No one knowing who I was. He said it was safer. I wouldn’t be putting anyone at risk. So I didn’t tell anyone. Not my family. Not my roommate. I fought alone. But I hated lying.” He returns to them then, looking now at Yuri. “Yakov told you the same, right? To keep it a secret to protect people.”

Viktor eyes his brother. He could gawk if he wanted, gape and glare, stand on his head or dance a happy jig of joy, Yuri’s attention wholly fixed on Yuuri. He stands hunched over his chair, a trembling curve to Yuuri’s taut line. After a few seconds, he nods, the movement stiff and slow.

At the nod, Yuuri resumes. “I didn’t want to die. I just… couldn’t continue as I was. I didn’t know how to change it. Me, anything. So I stopped. Just for a second, but it was long enough. The Siren pulled me under, and I drowned.” 

Yuuri pauses then and draws in a breath. “My roommate found me. Phichit. He’d been suspicious of me for a while. Apparently, I’m a horrible liar.” He huffs out a faint laugh then, at the memory of whoever in his past revealed to him his inability to lie. Perhaps it had been Phichit himself. Yuuri doesn’t explain; neither Viktor nor Yuri ask. After a minute the humor fades from Yuuri’s face and he continues. “Phichit resuscitated me. And when he did, I told him. I had to. He’d seen the Siren. He’d thrown one of the pool chairs at it, and a buoy, I think, to make it run away. He had questions. Obviously. I had to explain. And when I did, I felt… I felt relieved.”

Viktor glances at Yuri. Otabek would be this kind of friend for Yuri, if Yuri would tell him the truth. Maybe now he would, hearing the benefits of revelation from Yuuri.

“Celestino was angry of course. And worried. He was even more worried when Phichit started patrolling with me.”

“What?!” The question blurts from Yuri, seemingly beyond his control. “You let him come with you?”

Yuuri nods. “He refused to stay home. When he knew what was out there, what I was fighting, he wanted to help.”

“But- but weren’t you worried? Didn’t you care that he could die?”

“Of course I cared. But Phichit said he felt the same about me. He couldn’t just sit back and let me go out on my own, not after what had happened at the pool. It was a risk, he knew that, he’d seen it for himself, but it was one that he wanted to take. I couldn’t say no and still claim to be his friend.”

Yuri gawks at the admission, at Yuuri himself.

“Besides,” Yuuri continues, his face now curving into a smile, “Phichit’s definition of help was… unique.”

“How so?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri tenses at the question, but he turns to Viktor, he trusts him enough to look. Viktor keeps everything constrained and controlled within him, his mood calm yet curious. But cracks form when Yuuri’s smile grows, everything in Viktor wanting to respond in kind.

“What is it?” he asks.

Yuuri lets loose another sigh, but this time it’s fond, as is the gleam in his eyes. “He started a Twitter. ‘Slayuuri Saves.’ Celestino tried to stop it, but Phichit wouldn’t listen to him. He was still angry that Celestino had told me not to tell anyone about being a Slayer, that he made me fight alone, so it stayed. I didn’t think anything of it, but then it started getting popular. Really popular. People on campus sent in tips and suspicions. Some of them knew Phichit personally and would text him directly. And some of it was nonsense, of course. But the rest… People knew, even if they didn’t _know_. They knew things lurked in the dark, even if they didn’t know what exactly they were. Most people left it at tips, but some of them, the ones who knew Phichit, wanted to help. So they did.”

Yuri splutters and nearly chokes on his disbelief. “What?!”

Yuuri nods. “Phichit dubbed us ‘The Scooby Gang,’ after the cartoon. Guang-Hong’s getting his medical degree, so Phichit keeps him on call for injuries. Leo studied Tae Kwon Do at home, so he actually comes out with me and fights sometimes. Celestino does too now.”

Viktor leans forward again and props his elbows on his knees. “And the Council allows this?”

Yuuri snorts. “No. They fired Celestino and tried to give me a new Watcher. But I said no. I was tired of doing things their way. I’d lived by their rules, and I’d died because of it.” He pauses and all humor fades from his face. His mouth goes flat and his eyes hard as they turn to Yuri again. “I didn’t know they had another Slayer. I knew that two could exist at the same time. I just didn’t think- No one mentioned another one to me. Or to Celestino. So I thought my death didn’t count. Didn’t stick enough maybe.” Yuuri shakes his head again. “The one before you, between us, her name was Sara. She was from Italy. She-” Yuuri bites down on his bottom lip. He pulls in a careful breath, and he’s almost steady when he continues. “I didn’t learn about her, or you, until two weeks ago.”

Yuri straightens. “How’d you find out?”

Yuuri snorts again, but there’s no humor in it this time. “The Council called Celestino and asked him to be your Watcher. They were desperate. Mason and Trawley had already been here. I guess they thought if Celestino could train one Yuuri who wouldn’t listen to them, he could train _another_ Yuri who wouldn’t listen to them.” Yuuri shakes his head. “I don’t think they thought Celestino would tell me. But he did, the next day. And I flew out that night.” 

At this, Viktor pulls back. “Wait. You’ve been here almost two weeks?”

Yuuri nods. He doesn’t look at Viktor.

“But- but why did you wait so long to introduce yourself?”

Yuuri hesitates. His gaze darts over to Viktor, holds for a second, then flits to Yuri. It lingers there longer, but not for long, Yuuri lowering it to his hands once more as he says, “I didn’t come here to be Yuri’s Watcher. I came to hunt the Vahrall.”

The stillness in the room shatters as Yuri jerks back from the chair and stalks toward Yuuri. “Did you find it?”

Yuuri swallows. His eyes catch Viktor’s.

“You did, didn’t you?” Yuri continues. “You found it.” 

Yuuri doesn’t look over at him, he keeps his gaze on Viktor, but he nods.

Viktor stops breathing.

“Where is it?” Yuri demands, his hands fisting by his sides. “That’s _my_ kill. Mine, not yours.”

“I thought so too,” Yuuri says as he turns back to Yuri. “So I tracked you down. I wanted to see you fight, whether you were as talented as Yakov said you were in his reports.”

Yuri frowns at this. “You tracked me down? When?”

The hesitation is palpable. The silence stretches and thickens, but it provides no firm foundation for Yuuri, who wavers, first peering at Yuri and then at Viktor and then past them, perhaps to the TV or to the kitchen or the visible sliver of the backyard beyond. Then, abruptly, as when ripping off a band-aid, Yuuri answers, “Sunday.”

Yuri’s eyes go wide.

Viktor’s mouth goes flat. Sunday. Four days ago. He knew that something had happened, Yuri coming back from his first patrol alone covered from head to toe in dirt and mud. Viktor thought that he spied blood too on his clothes, on his face, he thought that Yuri held himself as though he was injured, but Yuri had said he was fine and brushed off any follow ups, racing upstairs to the bathroom for a shower.

Viktor looks at his brother now. “You told me everything was fine that night.” 

“It _was_ ,” Yuri snaps. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at Viktor.

“Clearly not,” Viktor says. “Why else would Yuuri be here now?” He turns to Yuuri then. “That’s when you changed your mind, right? Whatever you saw with Yuri Sunday made you want to be his Watcher.”

Yuuri looks from Viktor to Yuri, lips parted, the proverbial deer in headlights caught between the two as they stand opposite him, and each other. A beat passes and then he nods.

“See!” Viktor says as he rises to face Yuri. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened. God, Viktor, just-” 

“Don’t lie to me again.” Before Yuri can, Viktor shakes his head and turns away. “I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone. You weren’t ready. You-”

“I’m sixteen! I don’t need you babysitting me!”

“Clearly you do!” Viktor yells. He faces Yuuri once more, breathing fast. “What happened?”

Yuri rounds on Yuuri. “Don’t tell him.”

Yuuri stares up at them, his eyes darting like a hummingbird from one to the other. The ease he regained from talking about Phichit and his friends no longer loosens his body. Instead, he sits as stiff as he had at the start. But this tension tastes different to Viktor. Before he can discern why, Yuuri tells him, not in words, but in a look, his gaze dropping and holding on Viktor’s hands.

_I didn’t hurt you, did I?_

As if Yuuri hears the recriminating memory in Viktor’s head, he asks quietly, “Will what happen in the dining room happen here if I tell you?”

Viktor feels himself blanch. He sags back into the chair without speaking.

Yuuri turns to Yuri now. “And you, if I don’t tell you what you want to know, are you going to storm out again? Or do you have another paperweight to throw at me?”

Yuri meets the admonition with a glare, but Yuuri doesn’t relent, he holds the glare, and in the face of such implacable calm, Yuri twists his head away.

Silence blankets the living room. A dozen apologies flit through Viktor’s mind, but he says none of them, these as trite as the sympathy that he felt before. What could he say? Yuuri was right, about him and about Yuri too. They were TNT, short-fused powder kegs that decimated all in the vicinity with the explosion of their frustrations.

In the silence, Yuuri shakes his head. His gaze drifts around the room again. Viktor almost wishes Yuuri were angry, the compassion that he sees in Yuuri’s eyes cutting him to the quick. A few seconds pass and then Yuuri draws in a breath to say, “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you two. Your mother and then Yakov. I read the report about him…” Yuuri goes quiet a moment. As he does, Viktor eyes his brother. Yuri stares at the floor, his shoulders hunched and hands clenched by his sides. Yuuri’s voice is infinitely soft, infinitely gentle when he continues, “Slaying is a burden no one ever asks for and no one can change. It’s… it’s _hard_. On everyone,” he adds, casting a quick glance at Viktor. He looks away just as quickly. Viktor watches, hardly daring to breathe, as Yuuri pushes to his feet. He pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and, opening it, removes a small slip of paper, which he places on the coffee table. “Call Celestino. He’s not like Yakov, not remotely, but he’s not like the other two the Council sent either. He’s a good Watcher. I wouldn’t have made it as long as I did without him. He can help you. Both of you,” he says, glancing at Viktor once more. “His sister’s a witch. She can help you with your witchcraft, or introduce you to someone who can.”

It takes both Viktor and Yuri a few seconds to process the meaning behind the words. When Yuri does, his head snaps up and he gawks at Yuuri. “You’re leaving?!”

In the heat of the glare, Yuuri endured. Now, he averts his gaze as he nods.

Yuri glowers, silent and trembling. He compresses his lips, and Viktor tenses for the explosion. But it doesn’t come, the trembling a prelude to anguish not anger. Breath snagging in his chest, an audible gasp that makes Yuuri flinch, Yuri spins on his heels and stomps away, up the stairs and to his room, where he slams the door so hard the walls shake and the wood cracks.

Yuuri closes his eyes.

Viktor doesn’t. He watches Yuuri instead. He watches and he remembers. 

_I won’t give up on you. Or him._

Calm, calm, keep calm.

_But you do. You care._

“So you were lying before.” The words come from Viktor of their own volition. Or from his, he knows, this song that had seemed so new and hopeful degrading now like all the rest.

Yuuri opens his eyes and looks at him. “What?”

Viktor pushes to his feet. “When you said you wouldn’t give up on us. You were lying. You’re giving up now.”

The blood drains from Yuuri’s face. “No. I’m not. I’m trying my best to help. I want to help you. Both of you. But I’m not- I’m just me. You need someone better. Celestino-”

“Got you killed.” 

Yuuri shakes his head. “He didn’t. I-”

“Did what he said. And it got you killed.”

The pushback rattles the calm within Yuuri. He rounds the table, his body stiff with anger. “And that’s who you want for Yuri? Someone who died? Who failed?”

Viktor holds his ground. “No. I want the person who told the Council to go fuck themselves when they failed. I want the person who told me to fuck off, both yesterday and today.” Viktor stops then and shakes his head. “Do you even understand? Yuri _listened_ to you outside. You were right, you were right about how to get him to listen, and now you want to leave.” 

“I don’t want to!” Yuuri shouts, Viktor finally finding the fuse within him. “I want to stay, but you two can’t go five minutes without being at each other’s throats. And I can’t be in the middle of it. I can’t choose sides. I won’t. Yuri needs a Watcher who will support him, someone he feels will have his back, always, and I want to be that, I do, but I know I won’t be able to do that if it means I’m choosing against you!” 

Viktor knows it to be just an illusion, just a trick of his emotions upon his perceptions, but time in that moment stops. The world narrows to Yuuri, to him and to Yuuri and this delicate potential unfolding between them. The spark of something grand and significant hovers in the air, it colors Yuuri’s cheeks and makes Viktor breathless, more with the knowledge that Yuuri would give it all up, give him and them and this up, for Yuri.

How quickly could a person fall in love? Viktor shakes his head, trying vainly to restore rational thought to the sweet fizzy dizziness bubbling through him. 

Yuuri drops his gaze at the head shake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-”

“No,” Viktor all but shouts, startling Yuuri so much he takes a step back. Viktor leans forward, instinct pulling him closer. “I’m not upset.”

Yuuri blinks up at him. “You’re not?”

Viktor shakes his head again. “I’m happy you said it.”

“You are?”

Viktor nods. He lifts a hand, slowly, slowly, its destructive history the past two days at the fore of his mind. Yuuri grows still at the movement but he doesn’t move away, so Viktor follows his instinct, moving closer, close enough for his fingertips to brush the side of Yuuri’s face. “Of course I am,” he says softly, unfurling his hand to cup Yuuri’s face. “What you said means you feel this too.”

Yuuri shivers and closes his eyes. A blush blooms pretty and pink across his face.

“I have never met anyone like you,” Viktor continues. He skims his thumb across Yuuri’s cheek, daring close to his lips. “You have surprised me at every turn these past two days. How, _how_ can you think walking away is for the best?”

Yuuri shivers again. He swallows hard. “Yuri-”

“Needs you here. And I want you here. I promise I won’t put you between us. Not again.”

Yuuri shakes his head, not in response to what Viktor said, not in denial of the promise: in the same dizzy rush that had overwhelmed Viktor just moments before. Yuuri proves the surmise true a second later when he opens his eyes and turns his face _into_ Viktor’s hand, not away from it.

“You’re…” He trails off into a half gasp of a laugh that tickles Viktor’s palm.

Viktor starts to smile. “Yes?” 

Yuuri shakes his head again, but he finishes his laugh. “Phichit’s not going to believe this.”

“Hmm, how so?” Viktor momentarily parts with Yuuri’s cheek to brush back a loose strand of his hair.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Yuuri whimpers. “I have to go. I have to-” He jerks back, his eyes everywhere but on Viktor. “I need to- to go. I…” 

Viktor stands, hand frozen in the air. “You’re leaving?”

At the question, Yuuri’s eyes snap back to his. “To the hotel!” he yelps. “I meant the hotel! I have to go back to the hotel, not- not…”

The precipice retreats from Viktor. He lowers his hand and begins to breathe once more. “Not Detroit?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “At least not yet. I have my room through the weekend.”

“And after that?” Viktor asks as he moves closer.

Yuuri watches him approach. He doesn’t say anything though. Rather, his eyes slide from Viktor to the stairs. The flustered flush begins to fade from his face as he peers up at the second floor. “I need to talk to Yuri first. And so do you,” he adds turning back to Viktor.

Viktor can’t help the sigh. “I know. I’ve tried talking to him before, but it never works.”

Yuuri arches a brow. “Is trying what I saw you do just now? Because that’s not really what I’d consider talking.”

Viktor sighs again. He lifts his hands and rubs them across his face. “I know. I- It used to be so much easier. Before all this. Yuri used to like talking to me. _Dermo_ , he used to _like_ me when he was younger.”

There’s a beat of silence before Yuuri says, “You think he doesn’t like you now?”

Viktor looses a harsh laugh as he lowers his hands. “No, I know he doesn’t. He disagrees with everything I say. He won’t tell me anything, not about school, not about his life. He won’t even let me go patrolling with him.”

“Of course he won’t. He cares about you.”

The belief stirs the dying embers of hope within Viktor, but too many slammed doors and sullen silences the past two years dampen the dying hope. All Viktor can do is clench his jaw and shake his head.

Yuuri’s silent again. He watches Viktor with the same keen assessment that flayed Viktor open the day before and laid him and his life bare for Yuuri to see. Viktor squirms beneath the gaze and chooses to avoid it now rather than endure.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri mutters. “And you’re the one who asked me if _I_ understood.”

Viktor’s head snaps back toward him. “What else am I supposed to think? He-”

“He’s _scared_ , Viktor. Yakov died right in front of him. Do you know what that’s like? How something like that can affect you?”

Viktor stares at Yuuri, his mouth hanging open. He’s about to respond in the negative when the implication processes. When it does, Viktor closes his mouth. His gaze sharpens on Yuuri. Yuuri ducks his head, but Viktor still sees the faint tremor along his mouth. Quietly, he says, “You do. Don’t you?”

Head still lowered, Yuuri nods. “Her name was Yuuko. She was my best friend growing up. My only friend. A vampire named The Master came to Hasetsu. He was looking for me. He needed a Slayer’s blood to open a door to hell. A Hellmouth.” Yuuri pauses and pulls in a breath, but it hitches in his chest. Without thinking, Viktor reaches out and clasps one of Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri freezes a moment, but then his hand tightens around Viktor’s and he continues. “He thought it was her, not me. Who would think it was me? I was… I’d only had my power a month, and I- I didn’t look like a Slayer. I couldn’t fight like one. But Yuuko believed in me. She knew what I was. I had told her before Celestino found me, before he told me not to. I didn’t know why I’d been chosen. I thought it was a mistake. But she believed in me. She thought I could help people, that I could save the world someday. So she let The Master believe she was the Slayer. To protect me. And he killed her. Right in front of me.” Yuuri trembles. Tears pool in his eyes. “And I did nothing. I was too afraid to fight him, to try to stop him. I’d never seen anything like him before. He was so powerful, and I- I was only fifteen.”

Yuuri twists his head away and closes his eyes. He lifts his free hand and covers his face with it, striving to regain control. Viktor lifts the hand that he holds to his chest, cradling it, hugging it in both of his. He considers the real thing, but he’s starting to learn the language of Yuuri Katsuki, the fine line of physicality that he can and cannot cross, and this is not a line to cross, this grief old and private and shared with Viktor from necessity, not from desire.

After a few moments, Yuuri exhales a shaky breath. He squeezes Viktor’s hands before gently pulling his away, rubbing both across his face, beneath his eyes, to wipe the tears away. He takes another moment to compose himself, breathing slowly, then he lowers his hands back down to his sides.

“I left for America the next month. I transferred to a high school in Detroit, and I didn’t go back home for five years. I was too afraid of the same thing happening to my parents or my sister.” Yuuri pauses and his eyes drift back up the stairs. “Yuri’s scared too. You gave up everything to come here and take care of him.” He looks back at Viktor now, his eyes tinged red from grief but clear in their intent. “He’s shutting you out to protect you. It’s the only way he knows how.”

Old anger buzzes within Viktor at the explanation, anger at Yakov and the Council, at Celestino now and every Watcher who ever deemed it smart to isolate their Slayer from their family and friends. And all in the name of safety. Of protection. If Viktor hadn’t been Yuri’s brother, he thinks Yakov would have punched him the day that Viktor called him on that bullshit. Because it had never been about safety; it had always been about control, the Council getting control over a scared and overwhelmed kid who would then fight and die for them.

“Viktor?”

Viktor comes back to himself, and to Yuuri, at the soft question. Yuuri regards him now with a furrowed brow. Of course he would, Viktor’s hands in fists and electricity buzzing up his spine. Viktor takes a moment to unfurl his hands and blow out a long breath before he responds. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being angry at the Council for isolating Yuri from me. Or you from your family. It’s bullshit. No one is better alone.”

Yuuri says nothing, at least not in words. His eyes speak volumes, as does his hand, which inches forward and hooks a finger around Viktor’s. Viktor trembles at the touch, the weight upon him easing, the burden he bears no longer borne by him alone. 

_I guess we’ll just have to work together. Maybe the both of us can help Yuri._

“I agree,” Yuuri says softly. “Which is why you need to talk to Yuri. He needs you, more than he needs a Watcher. Even if it is me.”

Viktor nods. “I’ve tried talking to him before, but it never works. I don’t- I don’t know how to reach him.”

“You’ll find a way. I know you can. I did.”

Viktor can’t help the faint laugh. “So I should get into a fight with him in our backyard?”

Yuuri responds in kind. “Probably not. He’s got enough fighting in his life, don’t you think?”

Viktor nods again. All he’s ever wanted for Yuri since he learned the truth, since the first night Yuri came home after patrol battered and bloody, is more for him, friends and school and a life, a good one, something more than death. Yuuri had found one. He had friends who cared for him, he’d gone to college, he lived a life. And he could show Yuri how, too.

“Can I call you later?” Viktor asks now. “To tell you how it goes. And just to talk. If that’s okay.”

Yuuri looks away, but he doesn’t pull away. Cheeks flushing pink again, he nods. 

Grinning, Viktor pulls his phone from his pocket. Yuuri releases his hand, letting Viktor input his passcode. He creates a new contact (Yuuri ❤) and hands the phone to Yuuri, who, when he spots the contact name, blushes more, but he smiles too, a small one that sets Viktor alight, that sends electricity up his spine once again. Number saved, Yuuri passes the phone back to Viktor, who immediately clicks call so his number is now in Yuuri’s phone too.

Once done, gaze still averted, Yuuri starts to back towards the door. “Good luck.”

Viktor follows, the tide chasing the shore. “Thank you.”

Yuuri nods as he stops beside the door. Viktor steps close to him, wrapping an arm around him to unlock the deadbolt. He keeps his eyes on Yuuri, waiting, waiting as he lowers his hand in search of the knob. His arm now encircles Yuuri’s waist. Still he waits. Slowly, lips parted and breath coming fast, Yuuri lifts his eyes to his, where they stay. Yes, Viktor infinitely prefers mood, heart pounding, breathtaking mood, the flutter of Yuuri’s lashes as he stares at Viktor, the dizzy spin of Viktor’s heart as he returns the stare.

When he opens the door, Yuuri slips through, the small smile back on his face. Viktor watches as he steps lightly down the porch, out into the afternoon sun. At the sidewalk, he turns left and his head tilts back toward the house, toward Viktor. The smile still graces his face. It does Viktor’s too, lingering long after Yuuri disappears from view, after he closes the door and takes a moment to bask in the glow, in this warmth that he thinks is life and knows, one day, could be love.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to [follow me on Tumblr](http://astreetcarnamedwynn.tumblr.com/) to mutually flail about YOI. :)


	4. The Twist and the Flip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. The past two weeks have been very busy and there were many days in which I didn't have time to write. But here's the chapter. I hope you enjoy! There's a nerdy video game discussion in this chapter in which a number of games are referenced by name, but nothing about the games themselves or their plots are discussed. Also, a number of classic and infamous BtVS villains are referenced, including the disgusting skin eater from season 7.

Yuri, the Vampire Slayer  
Part Four: The Twist and the Flip

-

Everybody leaves. Everybody leaves and everybody dies. 

His father? Left- so long ago now that Yuri can’t even remember what he looks like. The pictures that could tell him he’d shoved down the garbage disposal when he was eight, angry at another birthday gone by without a word, a note or a card, anything to show that Anton Plisetsky gave a shit about him.

His mother? Dead- killed in a car accident, a fucking car accident, a drunk driver plowing into her little sedan as she was driving to pick Yuri up from ballet.

Yakov? Dead- killed by the Vahrall after jumping into the fray to defend Yuri when the demon had him pinned against a brick wall.

Otabek? Left- gone after another one of Yuri’s lies.

Katsuki? Left- leaving, intending to leave, Yuri a failure, a disappointment, a waste of space of a Slayer, so incompetent that he couldn’t even _die_ like he was supposed to, his Watcher doing it for him.

How long until Viktor left? He’d had everything in Moscow, fame and fortune, a gorgeous flat, friends and admirers, millions who loved the great Viktor Nikiforov, youngest principal ever of the New York City Ballet and then of the Bolshoi. And now he had, what? The swampy hell of St. Petersburg, Florida, this suburban wasteland, no Bolshoi here, no ballet either, Viktor forced to turn his basement studio into a training area for Yuri, forced to take care of a brother he could not stand, and why would he, how could he, Yuri a fuck up, unable to do anything right, not school, not friends, not even Slaying, Katsuki wiping the floor with him without even breaking a sweat.

And if not that, if not leaving, how long, how long, how long would it be, how many days or weeks or months until Viktor, like their mother and like Yakov too, died?

At the thought, Yuri breaks. He curls in on himself and shoves his face into his pillow, trying to muffle the sobs, the scream of rage that wells up within him and demands release. Sofia leaves then, jumping from the bed as Yuri moves, maybe to her perch by the window, or maybe under the bed, Yuri too loud, too angry, too awful for even a cat to love.

He hears the front door open downstairs. And suddenly he’s up, grabbing his phone, his hoodie and his jacket, his spare bag of gear from the closet. Viktor would track him, he would be furious that Yuri left, but Yuri still crosses to the window, he still shoves his phone and clothes into his bag. The thought of talking more, of Viktor interrogating him about Sunday, about school, about Slaying, makes Yuri’s gut churn, more when he pictures the look of disappointment likely to be found in his eyes, the disappointment and frustration that appeared more and more when Viktor looked at Yuri.

Crossing to the window, Yuri moves Sofia’s perch, currently cat free, Sofia under the bed. He opens the window. Downstairs, the front door closes. Yuri climbs onto the sill. Viktor starts up the steps. Yuri peers out into the backyard. The world outside is quiet, imbued by the hum of afternoon suburban life. The steps get louder, Viktor closer. Yuri eases out the window. Toes on the sill, one hand gripping the window frame, he slides the window shut. Then he takes a breath and exhales slowly before bearing down and leaping out. Arcing through the air, Yuri closes his eyes and basks in the feel of the sun on his face, of the wind whipping his air and his clothes, the fall freedom in flight, then he opens his eyes, twists in the air, and flips, his feet now directed at the ground.

Yuri rolls with the impact, springs up, and sprints for the backyard fence. Viktor must be at his door by now, knocking. He always knocked, no matter how fierce the screaming had gotten in their fight. The courtesy gives Yuri the last few seconds he needs to vault up and over the fence and land on the other side. He takes a moment to pull his hoodie and jacket from his bag and put them on. He slides his phone into his back pocket and readjusts his bag over his shoulder. Then he stands and darts past the darkened house to the street beyond.

Where Yuuri Katsuki stands waiting for him.

Yuri skids to a stop.

Katsuki raises a hand, absurdly, in a wave. “Hi. I thought you might-” He stops and lowers his hand. He worries his bottom lip a few seconds before he says, “Conversations can be difficult. I’ve never been good at them myself.”

Yuri just blinks at him.

Katsuki looks past Yuri in the direction of his and Viktor’s house. “That was a beautiful flip,” he says a second later. “Yakov was right in his reports. You have tremendous potential.”

The comment burns away Yuri’s shock. Lifting his chin, he sneers at Katsuki. “Not enough for you.”

Katsuki shakes his head. “You’ve more than enough. Which is why I thought Celestino- a proper Watcher- would be better for you. I’ve never taught anybody before.” He pauses then and looks away, shrugging. “I don’t know- Talking about what happened, I just… doubted. Me, I mean. Not you. I doubted that I could help you. But I’d like to try,” he adds, glancing back at Yuri. “If you want me to. I-”

He stops as Yuri’s phone starts to ring. Scowling, Yuri takes the phone from his pocket. _Viktor_ flashes at him from the screen. Yuri denies the call and shoves the phone into his bag then he returns his glare to Katsuki, who eyes the bag. Yuri braces, he fucking waits for Katsuki to say _something_ , anything, Katsuki likely knowing who it was who had called Yuri, who else would it be, Yuri just leaping from his own window to escape his house. To escape Viktor. Yuri breathes fast, his hands clench around the strap of his bag. He waits. Something flickers across Katsuki’s face, but before Yuri can discern what, Katsuki’s phone rings. Katsuki starts and his gaze flies up to Yuri’s where it holds a second before sliding past him as though he could see Viktor and Yuri’s house beyond the one they stood before.

Katsuki turns back to him. “I, uh, don’t have a reason to ignore him,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Hello?”

Yuri watches Katsuki listen a few seconds. The other man pulls his bottom lip between his teeth again then he zeroes in on Yuri. Yuri returns the stare, wary, trying to parse the significance of Viktor calling Katsuki immediately after calling Yuri himself. Did Viktor know Katsuki wanted to stay? Yuri suspects yes. The two had talked a while after Yuri left the room, and Viktor could be beyond persistent when he wanted something. And the moment Katsuki revealed himself in the backyard, all grace and brutal elegance, Yuri knows that Viktor wanted him.

His attention is drawn back to Katsuki when he stutters, “I- Has he done this before?”

The question prompts a prickle of guilt within Yuri. He has, frequently, so frequently that Viktor threatened to nail his bedroom window shut, though one look at Sofia, who loved lounging in the fresh air of an opened window, stopped him. 

Whatever Viktor says next makes Katsuki look away from Yuri, nearly turn away from him. “He doesn’t hate you, Viktor.”

Yuri lowers his eyes.

“Has he come back, those other times he’s left? I mean, on his own, has he come back on his own?”

Yuri bites down on the inside of his cheek; he scrapes a nail against the strap of his bag.

“Then he will this time too. He probably just needs some time to think, to work through all he’s feeling. I did the same thing when I was younger. I still do,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that compels Yuri to look at him again. “You may have noticed.” Katsuki listens a few seconds then he blushes. His eyes dart to Yuri. Seeing him watching, Katsuki ducks his head; his flush deepens. “I, uh, have to go. I’ll check around at sundown, see if he’s patrolling. If he’s not back by his curfew, call me and I’ll help you find him.” 

He goes quiet again as Viktor responds then he says goodbye and hangs up. Yuri twists his head away before Katsuki can catch him staring again. Questions swirl within him. Why had Katsuki decided to stay? Why hadn’t he told Viktor that Yuri was standing right in front of him, just a few yards from the house? What exactly was going on between Katsuki and his brother? All the questions swirl, but Yuri doesn’t ask any. He bites down on his bottom lip and waits, Katsuki sure to start in on him now, to interrogate him about why he left, about why Viktor thinks Yuri hates him, or about why Yuri lied about what happened Sunday night, but Katsuki surprises him again. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks instead.

Yuri jerks his head around to gawk at him.

Katsuki shrugs again. “I know it’s a bit early for dinner, but I was always hungry those first few years, especially after a fight, so I thought you might be too.”

Yuri doesn’t respond. His stomach, however, does, choosing that moment to growl loud and long, pissy after being denied the usual snack after school. Katsuki, of course, hears, standing only a few feet away and imbued, like Yuri, with demonically derived super senses. Sighing, Yuri rolls his eyes and says, “Fine. But I want pizza and you’re buying.”

Katsuki stares at him a beat before smiling. “Sounds good to me.”

*

They walk in silence to Yuri’s favorite pizza place, a little chain called Carver’s. There they order a large meat lovers pizza and a couple of drinks, also in silence. They get their drinks in silence, too, Yuri a Coke and Katsuki a Sprite, then they sit in a booth to wait for their pizza, still silent. There are a few other customers in the restaurant. Rock music plays over the speakers. Katsuki glances around, calmly curious. Yuri stares at him, curious yet in no way calm. Viktor had never met a silence that he didn’t demolish with mindless chatter, yet Katsuki seems content remaining quiet, and Yuri can’t help but compare him to Beka- to Otabek, can he call him Beka anymore if he had walked away?

_Take care of yourself, Yuri._

Throat tight, Yuri looks away. 

When he does, he feels Katsuki focus on him. Yuri clenches his jaw and waits, he waits for the interrogation that is sure to come. Yet as the seconds pass, Katsuki just stares. He doesn’t push or demand. Not even Otabek had resisted asking, talking, demanding to know what Yuri could not say. 

_There’s nothing you can say that will make me angry._

Breath hitching in his chest, Yuri tips his head down, letting his hair fall before and obscure his face. Otabek had been his first friend when Yuri and his mother had moved to St. Petersburg in the middle of Yuri’s seventh grade year. He had been Yuri’s _only_ friend, both here in Florida and before in New York. And now… 

Yuri digs his nails into the palms of his hands. He hears Katsuki shift in the booth across from him. Still the silence persists. A waiter passes by, but not with their pizza. Yuri watches him go; as he does, his gaze catches and holds on Katsuki, who looks away, reaching for his Sprite as though he hadn’t been looking, as though he’s not waiting for Yuri to talk. 

_Why won’t you talk to me?_

Yuri turns away. He peers down at his hands, at the angry red crescents cutting troughs across his palms. He swallows past this sharp bite of pain, but he can’t ease the ache lodged in his throat that’s been wedged there since this afternoon, since Otabek had turned and walked away. 

_We’re supposed to be friends._

_Are we?_

“Your friend…”

Yuri stops, surprised that he spoke, surprised that he wants to speak, or that he needs to, because he needs to know, he needs to know if he can salvage this, his friendship with Otabek, somehow, if he can- he doesn’t know- do _something_. 

Yuri peeks up at Katsuki and finds him watching, waiting, patient and… kind.

Yuri dips his head again. He pulls the edge of one sleeve over the nail marks on his hand. “Was he- Was he angry when you told him the truth? Angry about you lying, I mean.”

Yuri glances up again. Katsuki blinks a moment before shaking his head. Then he stops, tilts his head to the side, and considers. “Well, maybe before he knew the truth. But it’s like Phichit said after I told him, ‘On the grand scale of reasons to lie to your best friend, a secret burden to save the world is one of the best.’”

Yuri nods but doesn’t respond. He takes a drink of his Coke, aware of Katsuki’s continued stare. Yuri braces, the questions sure to come now, Yuri cracking open the door himself. He picks up his straw wrapper and starts ripping it to shreds, wishing he could do the same to the absolutely dumb question he had just asked.

“Did you study gymnastics when you were younger?” Katsuki asks instead.

Yuri jerks his gaze up. “What?”

Katsuki shrugs. “The way you leapt from that window- and in our sparring- I just wondered if you had any background in it.”

Yuri shakes his head. He stares at Katsuki, at this opening he’s provided for Yuri. So what if he bared his soul to Yuri and Viktor that afternoon? That didn’t mean Yuri had to do the same, even with such an innocuous question. Yet Katsuki didn’t tell on Yuri to Viktor, either about Sunday or about now, so, sighing, he says, “I studied ballet.”

Katsuki’s face lights up. “Really? Me too.”

Yuri eyes him. “You did?”

Katsuki nods. “It’s what I wanted to do when I was younger. Dance professionally when I grew up, but…” He shrugs again, the shrug saying all that needed to be said.

But Slaying.

Yuri leans back in the booth. He twists and untwists the remainder of the straw wrapper. “Do you do it anymore?”

Katsuki nods. “I minored in dance in college. And I work part time for one of my old professors. Just basic stuff, but I like it.”

“I thought you said that you’d never taught anybody before.”

“I haven’t. I’m not really teaching, just demonstrating technique. If my schedule were a bit more consistent, maybe I could teach, but…” He trails off again.

But Slaying.

Yuri nods. He looks at Katsuki, a question pushing at him, or questions, multiple, as insistent as Sofia, as Makkachin, for their dinner. Questions about Yuuri, about dancing, about college, about _living_ , Yuuri seven years on as a Slayer and still alive. Yuri bites down on his lip; he crumples the rest of the straw wrapper. “Do you…?”

Before him, Katsuki lifts his brows.

Yuri slumps further into the booth. He pulls his left leg up beside him, fiddles with the muddied shoelace of his tennis shoe.

Katsuki draws in a breath.

Yuri tenses.

“I saw that you and Viktor have a PS4. And a Wii. Do you play any games?”

Yuri’s eyes snap up to Katsuki. “Uh, yeah. Sometimes.”

Katsuki nods and is about to reply when the waiter comes with their pizza. Yuri straightens as he places it on the table, as the heavenly smell reaches him, meat and cheese and the tangy tomato sauce. He digs in immediately, dragging three slices onto his plate and shoving the first into his mouth. A few seconds later, he hears Katsuki murmur in delight as he takes his first bite.

Yuri glances at him and smiles, or he tries to, his mouth still full of pizza. “I know. It’s so good.”

Yuuri nods. They eat in silence. The strained tone of their prior silence gives way to something nearly comfortable, almost companionable, both reveling in the hot, tasty food. The first slice disappears and then the second, and for the first time that day, Yuri relaxes, no one accusing him, no one interrogating or inspecting him, no fault in his mind or his manners, just him in the quiet, no fight in sight.

“Do you play games?” he asks Yuuri around a massive bite of pizza.

Yuuri nods. He wipes his mouth and fingers with a napkin. “I like platformers. And RPGs. I was in the middle of _The Last Guardian_ when I came here. What about you?” 

“Shooters. I like _Doom_. And _Fallout_. That’s the best. Oh, and _Bioshock_. And _Bloodborne_.”

Yuuri grabs his Sprite, a hint of a smile on his face. “I tried playing _Bloodborne_. Leo loves it, _Dark Souls_ too, but I don’t know…”

“What?”

Yuuri shrugs and takes a drink. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says when finished. “It’s a good game. But you fight a giant sixty-foot snake that used to be your school’s dean, and something like _Bloodborne_ kind of loses its appeal.”

Yuri nearly drops his pizza.

“You ever play a Zelda game?” Yuuri asks as he lifts his own slice. “Those were my favorite growing up.”

Yuri gapes, silent, his jaw open and eyes wide. Then he does drop his pizza. Leaning forward, he says, “Zelda? _Zelda?_ Are you fucking serious? You just tell me you fought a giant snake and you want to talk about Zelda? No. No,” Yuri says as he shakes his head. “Tell me about the snake.”

Yuuri looks at him and smiles.

*

For the rest of the meal, Yuuri tells him about the various demons, vampires, and nasties that he’s fought in his seven years as a Slayer. The list… impresses. The sixty foot snake two years ago, the dean transforming during Yuuri’s graduation. And then there was a vampire so old that its hands and feet had turned into hooves. For the nasties, a hellhound actually, literally from Hell; a demon that (gross, gross, _gross_ ) paralyzed people before peeling off their skin in strips to eat like spaghetti; and a demon who was invisible except to sick, dying kids. And, of course, a vampire who claimed to be the one and only Dracula.

_Dracula._

Yuri walks beside Yuuri now, the two having left Carver’s to wander around the neighborhood. The evening hubbub carries on around them, parents coming home from work or families going out to dinner, the sky shifting orange as the sun sinks to the horizon. Hands wrapped around the strap of his bag, Yuri glances at Yuuri, and the glance becomes a look, and the look becomes a stare, Yuri’s mind spinning with the stories, at the reality of this unassuming and seemingly pathetic man’s complete and utter badassery. Yuri had even checked Phichit’s twitter when Yuuri had gone to the bathroom, finding even more remarkable moments in just a few minutes, Yuuri captured in the midst of a fight, in training too, in a post-snake celebration with Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong, the four of them covered in sweat and soot and what Yuri thought was giant snake guts. 

And what has Yuri done? Yakov flashes before him for a bloody, shameful moment, but Yuri turns from it as he turns from Yuuri, ducking his head to stare at the ground. There was no comparison. None. Yuri had thought he was good, but when push came to shove, he’d failed. With the Vahrall, he failed. And Sunday too. It had just been two vampires. No hooves in sight. Just two normal vampires, and one freshly risen. But the tide had turned in the fight. The older vamp had wrenched Yuri’s arm and dislocated it, had kicked him back into the overturned grave just vacated by the new one. Yuri had slammed into the broken coffin, wood shards biting into his skin, cutting his hands, neck, and face. When he’d finally managed to crawl out, bruised and battered and slathered in mud and blood, the vamps had been gone.

But if Yuuri had been there, if he’d seen…

Eyes flitting back to Yuuri, he says, “On Sunday… Did you, after I…?”

Somehow Yuuri understands the stilted inquiry. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t help you. They ran away when they saw me, and I knew- New vamps always need to feed, and I didn’t want anyone-” He pauses and pulls in a breath. “When I got back, you were already gone.”

Yuri looks away. From the corners of his eyes, he sees Yuri regard him, he sees the moment that Yuuri decides to commence _the talk- let’s talk Yuri, Yuri let’s talk-_ and he tenses.

“You know,” Katsuki begins, “I had help for most of those demons I told you about.”

Yuri says nothing. They stop at an intersection, wait for a green convertible to drive past.

As they start across, Katsuki continues. “You asked about Phichit being mad at me earlier. Do you- Is there a friend, someone you want to tell?”

Yuri steps onto the sidewalk. If he stays silent, maybe Katsuki will stop asking questions. Then he won’t have to talk. He won’t have to say what happened. He won’t have to deal with the look, the dewey eyed concern or the disappointed glare he always received from Viktor. But Katsuki wasn’t Viktor. Katsuki wasn’t his teachers. He wasn’t the social workers at CPS or the psychologist Yuri saw all of twice after his mother died or even Otabek. Yuuri was a Slayer, like him. So maybe he wouldn’t give Yuri the look. Or if he did, maybe it would be one of commiseration, of _understanding_ , Yuuri given the same lesson that Yakov had given to him: tell no one, protect everyone, silence is the only path to protection.

But who had protected Yuuri?

Yuri stops. “It’s my friend. Otabek.”

Yuuri stops too. He looks over, but there’s no _look_ in his eyes. Or there is, Yuri peeking up at him now, but it’s one of relief. Yuri files that away to examine later, when he’s free of the weight of confession. Now, he pulls in a breath and continues. 

“He’s angry with me. We got into a fight today, before I came home. I wouldn’t tell him the truth about this, about me. And he said- He said-” Yuri fists his hands around his bag strap, anger swooping hot and fast upon him like an eagle after prey. “It’s all Viktor’s fault. If he’d just kept his big fucking mouth shut, then Beka wouldn’t have known there was something to know. And he’d still be- He’d still-” Yuri clamps down on the rest, clenching his jaw against the admission.

_He’d still be my friend._

Yuuri’s quiet a moment before he says, “What did Viktor say?”

Yuri heaves out a sigh. “Does it matter? He said _something_. That’s what he does. He sticks his nose in shit that doesn’t concern him and he opens his goddamn mouth and he speaks.”

There’s another beat of silence then Yuuri arches a brow. “You don’t concern him?”

“No. No, I don’t. He’s my brother. He’s not my father. He’s not my-” _mother_ , but Yuri can’t say this. He won’t. Tilting his head back, he glares instead at Katsuki. “I’m sixteen. I can take care of myself.”

“You probably can. But why would you want to?”

Yuri freezes. The question steals the breath from his lungs. 

Katsuki stares. He mutters something beneath his breath, not in English, then he looks at Yuri like he wants to vomit. But rather than back down, he straightens his shoulders and says, “Okay, you’re going to hate this. I know you are. I hated when my sister said this when I was growing up. She’s six years older than me and sometimes- I love her, but sometimes I hated her too, you know.” _He doesn’t hate you, Viktor. Piss off, Viktor._ “Like when she’d say to me, ‘Oh you’ll understand when you’re older’ or ‘When I was your age.’ But…” 

Katsuki stops and draws in a breath. He licks his lips, worries the bottom one a moment before continuing, “When I was your age, I felt the same. The same… resistance. To people. Or not to people. To letting them in. This was even before Slaying. That just made it worse. I-” He shifts his gaze to look past Yuri, at the signpost behind him. “My, uh, anxiety used to be bad. Really bad. It still is sometimes, but not like it was. And I didn’t- I never wanted anyone to see it. To know how weak I was. Then they’d know and they’d try to help, and that, well, that would just make it worse. I’d just feel… weaker. So I always tried to do it myself. Handle it myself, I mean. To not be a burden. Or a bother.

“And I know it’s different for you,” Yuuri says as he turns back to Yuri. “That’s not exactly how you feel. I know it, but still, it’s okay… It’s okay to have people care about you.”

Yuri twists his head to the side, he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“That doesn’t make you weak,” Yuuri says after a moment. His voice is soft, so soft it’s nearly drowned out by the passing cars, but Yuri hears each word harder than the blows Yuuri sent his way in their fight that afternoon. “That’s what they tell us. Celestino. Yakov. Not directly. But it’s what we hear. Silence is strength. Silence is protection. We can only protect them if we don’t talk, if we say nothing about who we are or what we do.” Yuuri pauses before going in for the metaphorical kill. “I had to die to learn how that isn’t true. I don’t want you to suffer the same fate.”

Yuri closes his eyes. He tastes blood in his mouth, but he feels the tremble, the faint tremor along his lips still.

“Yuri, you- I don’t want to get between you and Viktor. But so much of our lives is fighting. It’s important for there to be things that aren’t. Viktor wants to help you. And so do I. I-”

Yuri opens his eyes and looks at Katsuki. “You want to help me? You don’t even know me.” He stands, silent a moment, shaking. Tears sting his eyes, but through them, he sees red. And in the red, he sees Katsuki. Yuri wants to kick him into the street, smash his foot in his face to stop the flow of words, of _concern_. “What?” he adds, resuming his glare. “Is your life so shitty in Detroit that you’d just throw it all away to come here? Or do you want to fuck my brother just that much that you’d stay?”

Yuuri inhales sharply. His eyes go wide.

Yuri narrows his. “I saw the way you were looking at each other. And you blushing on the phone with him… Pathetic. You’re both pathetic. I don’t need either of you.”

He wrenches himself away then and stomps down the sidewalk, unheeding of the direction, just intent on getting away. He makes it five steps before Katsuki speaks.

“I didn’t decide to stay for Viktor.” 

Yuri stops. Why does he stop?

“I didn’t even know he was your brother until he opened the door yesterday.” Katsuki starts to approach. His steps are slow, yet steady. “All Celestino said was that you had an older brother who was your guardian. I thought he’d be a Plisetsky, not-”

Katsuki comes into view then shaking his head. He stops a few feet from Yuri, at the edge of a lawn. Yuri keeps his gaze fixed forward, his jaw clenched and his hands now in fists by his sides. A couple seconds pass and then Yuuri sighs.

“My life in Detroit is not shitty. Or maybe it is, I don’t know.” From the corners of his eyes, Yuri sees him lift a hand, the gesture weary, a shade helpless. Yuri peeks at him as Katsuki lowers his hand, he averts his gaze as Yuuri speaks. “Me staying here, wanting to stay here, it’s not because I hate it there. And it’s not because of Viktor either.”

“But you like him.”

Yuri didn’t wanted to say it, but he did. He doesn’t want to tremble now, but he does. He doesn’t want to look at Katsuki, at Yuuri, because he doesn’t want the other man to see, but he does. He does. He doesn’t receive a look in return though. Yuuri’s closed his eyes, but that doesn’t matter. Yuri still sees anyway, he sees Katsuki retreating into himself and locking a tremulous portion of himself away. He sees Yuuri exhale slowly, he sees him set his shoulders and then open his eyes. 

“I told Viktor you needed someone you could trust. Someone that you felt supported you and had your back. If me and Viktor, if that, if we… then I won’t. And he won’t either. That’s not- This is more important.”

 _You are more important_ goes unsaid, but Yuri hears it anyway. He hears it and he sees, not just Yuuri before him, but Viktor too, standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by boxes and boxes from Moscow, Viktor’s entire life packed up and shipped out to be stored away in a dusty basement in Florida. But all Viktor had done when Yuri growled an objection had been to shrug and say it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t important. But it was. It mattered. Everything Viktor accomplished, the awards, the career, the fame and recognition, all gone, all sacrificed, and all for Yuri. 

And Yuri hated it. Hated that his father didn’t give a shit about him. He hated that his mother died. He hated that Viktor had to give up everything because of it. He hated that Viktor was now saddled with Yuri, with Slaying, with death and blood and demons and devils, and the knowledge that Yuri will, someday, because it was his fate, one Slayer and the next one and the next, die.

_He doesn’t hate you, Viktor._

No, Yuri doesn’t hate Viktor. 

He hates everything else.

_I didn’t know how to change it. Me, anything._

Yuri closes his eyes. He grits his teeth and breathes in.

_I have to deal with it myself._

_That’s not what Viktor said._

No, that’s not what Viktor said. That’s never what Viktor said, Viktor always pushing, always trying, but when had been the last time he’d seen Viktor smile? Not in the last few years. Maybe in Moscow when he’d visited the summer before high school, but even then his smile had been shaded, weighed down by his break-up with that goddamn shithead Mikhail. So before, when he and Yuri and their mother had all been together in New York, when he’d received his offer to be made principal at the Bolshoi. 

Five years. 

But he’d nearly smiled, he’d wanted to, that afternoon when he looked at Katsuki.

_I didn’t know how to change it. Me, anything._

_Like he taught you. Because I know he did._

Yuri breathes out and opens his eyes. 

_It’s okay to have people care about you._

“I thought you said we needed more in our lives than fighting?”

Yuuri blinks at him, clearly thrown. “I-Uh, yeah, I did. But-”

Yuri crosses his arms over his chest and cocks a brow. “But what? You’re not going to follow your own advice? That’s a pretty shit example to set, don’t you think? I don’t want a hypocrite for my Watcher.”

“I- What-” Yuuri flounders a moment before he goes completely still. “Your Watcher?”

Yuri shrugs. He scuffs the sidewalk with the heel of his shoe. “Why not? You’re not a complete loser. I guess I could learn something from you.”

Yuuri huffs out a soft laugh. “Thanks.”

Yuri shrugs again. There’s a second of silence and then he blurts out, “Just don’t make out with Viktor in front of me, okay? Your gross, lovey-dovey bullshit’s going to be scarring enough. I don’t need to see you two pant after each other like Makka after a treat.”

To this, Yuuri says nothing. He just watches Yuri carefully. “Are you sure?”

Yuri unfolds his arms. “Yes. Christ, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Now can we go home? I’m tired.”

“We? But-”

“But what? Do you want to go back to your dumb hotel and sit on your ass the rest of the night, alone? You haven’t even told me about this Zelda game yet.”

The confusion of the last minute vanishes from Yuuri’s face, replaced by such a deeply offended and utterly stricken look that Yuri nearly bursts out laughing. But he doesn’t, Yuuri beginning to walk with him toward home. 

“This… Zelda game?! There are almost twenty of them. How do you not know?” Yuuri stops to gawk a moment at Yuri. “Do you even know Megaman? Or Mario?”

“Of course I know Mario.” Yuri glances at him and barely restrains his smile. “He’s that creepy blue hedgehog, right?”

The sound that Yuuri makes nearly matches the sound Sofia makes when Yuri accidentally steps on her tail, both in tone and volume. Yuri lasts only six seconds before he starts to laugh. Yuuri shoots him a look, but he starts forward again and Yuri sees the hint of amusement in his eyes, and of relief, as they start toward home.

*


End file.
